The Way Life Should Be
by Royalty09
Summary: What should have been a routine assassination goes haywire when a hotel reservation gets switched. What will Jackson do to make sure the job gets done? No JxL.
1. Chapter 1

"Here he comes," Jackson said, pretending to read the newspaper that was splayed across the steering wheel in an effort to appear as inconspicuous as possible.

As inconspicuous as one can look parked in the middle of nowhere at 5:00 a.m., that is.

"Thank God, my back is killing me," his younger brother Elliot moaned from the backseat. "Do we have to do this now? You know I'm not a morning person."

"I wouldn't have woken up at three in the morning, so we could wait out here for two hours if it weren't absolutely necessary. Trust me; this is the only time we'll catch him alone. It'll be too damned complicated otherwise."

That was true; Jackson had been watching Christopher McPhee, a wealthy business man with political ambitions that were too grand for some people's liking, for over a month now. Other than his morning jog, the man was never alone; always surrounded by friends, family, brownnosers, you name it. This had to be nice and clean, no brash message needed to be sent, no witnesses required. He and his brother needed to get in and get out.

Jackson sat there, reading his paper and drinking his coffee as the target drew closer. Occasionally, he'd glance up, but if the jogger was concerned by his presence, he didn't give any indication. In fact, they never even made eye contact.

It was always better that way.

"Wait till he passes," Jackson ordered through tensed lips and when McPhee ran by, Elliot rose from the back seat, rolled down the window and fired. The mark never knew what hit him. It was a merciful killing.

Elliot was spectacular at what he did. No other marksmen ever fired a shot so true. If he weren't such a shitty planner, without a mind for details, he could have been a one man operation. But the truth was, Elliot was horribly disorganized, not to mention excitable and that's where Jackson came into play; he was the schemer and always managed the operations. One could say Jackson set up the pins, Elliot knocked them down.

That's what McPhee was; a pin and Elliot had knocked him down in his usual efficient manner.

Jackson started the car and slowly drove away. As he expected, there wasn't another living soul around. When the hours passed and McPhee didn't return home, people would come searching for him but that didn't matter. By that point, Jackson and Elliot would be long gone. They would disappear; just like they always did.

He looked in his rear view mirror one last time. McPhee's body lay on the ground, unmoving. There was no need to go back and check for a pulse; what little was left of the former business mans' head told Jackson that the job was done.

"Where are we off to now?" Elliot asked after returning his drab olive Dakota T-76 Longbow, an awesome weapon if Jackson did say so himself, to its' case.

"Kittery, Maine," Jackson replied, tossing a manila folder into the backseat. "This is the next target."

There was silence from the backseat as Jackson listened to pages being turned, "Who would want to kill this guy? He's about as dangerous as Mother Teresa," Elliot finally asked.

"The facts are, somebody wants him dead and somebody has already given us a large deposit to make sure the deed gets done. The who and the why, are irrelevant. Besides, it's June; I hear Maine is beautiful this time of year."

Jackson meant it; unlike the stagnant air and stifling heat that this rinky-dink town of Tolland, Connecticut offered, Kittery, Maine and the Odome Point Inn that waited, promised fresh ocean breezes and a breath taking view of the ocean. Other than the whole murder thing, it would be a relaxing weekend.

"So when are we leaving?" Elliot asked.

"Now," Jackson answered.

"But we haven't packed!"

"Whatever we need, we'll buy when we get there," Jackson reasoned. "The room has been reserved and the supplies are ready. If we hurry, we can be there by 8:00."

It was Friday and Jackson knew that if they waited any longer, they would become a part of the herd that flooded into Maine and New Hampshire every weekend from Memorial Day until Labor Day. There were times when the highway turned into a parking lot as people waited hours just to pay a $1.00 toll.

There was nothing in life Jackson found more tedious than sitting in traffic.

He'd sooner die…..

**Author's note: Okay, this story will showcase a darker side of Jackson. He is in no way related to the Jackson from my previous (or current) stories. Always the professional, he will stop at nothing to get the job done. As you can imagine, when he gets to the hotel and finds that his reservation has been screwed up, all hell will break loose. I pity the two people who were mistakenly giving his room.**

**I hope you enjoy. Thanks in advance for taking the time to read and/or review**.


	2. Chapter 2

Renee had spent the first five minutes of that lengthy trip lost in an introspective silence. But whenever her younger sister Elizabeth was around, silence could never last long.

Silence never knew what hit it….

She had always seen Elizabeth as the idealized version of herself; two years younger, two inches taller, and her hair, two shades lighter – one of those tall, leggy blue-eyed, blondes that people loved to hate and she never hurt for attention from the opposite sex.

Then there was Renee; fair-haired like her sister, just more of a dishwater blonde. Average height, average weight….average everything; she was happy with that and even though Elizabeth had a tendency to talk for hours, seemingly days at a time, Renee was happy with her company too.

"Twenty-eight and already, I have one marriage under my belt," she bemoaned.

"Don't beat yourself up over it. He failed at marriage, not you. You were a frickin saint for putting up with him as long as you did. Well, either a saint or an idiot, whichever works for you," Elizabeth said, shooting Renee a playful wink.

Somehow, Renee knew a jab was coming. Elizabeth was only capable of expressing just so many kind words per day; her threshold had been met.

"How does it feel to be a free woman?" she asked.

It had been less than twenty-four hours since Renee had been slapped with the dreaded "D" word and to her, it still didn't seem real. A year of fighting brought to an end by the authoritative pound of a judge's gavel.

"Hard to say," Renee answered. "The marriage was over a year ago, so I guess you could say I've been a free woman for a while now."

"Well, divorce suits you. Look at yourself, you're practically glowing!"

She knew she was, and she couldn't help but laugh at the way divorce could give a woman a glow that rivaled that of pregnancy. It was as if a ten ton weight had been lifted from her shoulders, even if the thirty-five year old child she had married had run up their credit cards to the tune of $27,000. A debt she had been partially saddled with, whether it was fair or not.

"I still say you should have had him killed. It would have been cheaper," Elizabeth continued in her customary to-the-point fashion.

"Now, now; that would be wrong, Elizabeth," Renee teased.

"Wrong for whom; believe me, there were times during your _marriage _that I thought about doing it myself."

Deciding it was a little early in the day to plot a murder, Renee deftly changed the subject.

"You know, he said the strangest thing before we left the courthouse; in front of the clerk, our attorneys – everyone."

"What?" Elizabeth asked.

"He said 'oh well, we can always get married again.'"

"What!" Elizabeth yelled for the second time, almost going off the road in the process.

Lucky for them, it was only four in the morning and the roads were deserted. Having left late the previous evening at Elizabeth's insistence, they were in Connecticut now, beginning the last leg of their journey.

Everything had been Elizabeth's idea, from leaving Richmond Thursday night to avoid traffic, to making the drive up to Maine for a getaway weekend of sunshine, lobster dinners and shopping. Renee had been reluctant at first, with the credit card debt looming over her head and all, but Elizabeth had worn her down, promising to pay for the hotel, gas and Friday night's dinner. A generous offer like that was hard to resist and when Elizabeth made the clichéd statement, "You need to pamper yourself," that did it. Renee was sold.

"He just doesn't get it, does he?" Elizabeth asked once she brought the car and herself under control.

"Apparently not, he was oblivious to a lot of things. That's why we're divorced."

Was the man callous or just completely ignorant? Renee had spent many nights pondering that question, only to come up with the same straightforward answer, _it didn't matter anymore_. Blame it on cruelty, blame it on naivety; either way, he'd been oblivious to a great many things; to the fact that a married couple who spent most of their time apart were heading for disaster, that words could hurt as badly as fists and that Renee would not spend the rest of her life being treated like a second class citizen.

"He's delusional and an asshole….he's a delusional asshole," Elizabeth chimed in.

"Well put," Renee laughed.

Remarkably the next hour and a half passed quietly, the relative calm broken only when Elizabeth would shake her head from time to time and make a disparaging comment or two about her former brother-in-law as she drove.

They were somewhere in Massachusetts, making their way up 495 North when it happened. Elizabeth was busy singing along to the radio, thwarting Renee's attempts at sleep; nothing out of the ordinary. Then they passed Exit 25 and their luck ran out; the merging traffic from Route 290 hit them full force. This was the morning commute and though it could never live up to the multitude of vacationers that would flood this highway over the next few hours, the rest of the trip would be no picnic. With one car riding their tail as Elizabeth sat less two inches off the bumper of the car in front of them, they were almost side swiped by the black BMW trying to merge.

"Maybe you should switch lanes?" Renee asked.

"And how do you propose I do that, mate with the car next to me?" Elizabeth fired back. "Besides, it's his job to merge. I don't have to do him any favors."

A car horn sounded and Renee looked to her right, making eye contact with the besieged driver who waved his hand at her, pleading for her to give way. It was those eyes that caught her attention; such a brilliant shade of blue and his finely chiseled features…the man was to die for.

She threw her hands in the air, "Sorry, nothing I can do," she finally mouthed, sorry to disappoint such a beautiful man.

He took the rebuff rather well, but his traveler, who, judging by the close resemblance, was probably his brother, was not pleased and waived his middle finger in the air for all to see. Upon noticing the display, 'Old Blue Eyes' as Renee now referred to him, pushed the incensed passenger's hand down.

Renee was prepared to let it go but Elizabeth, being her usual feisty self, wouldn't hear of it. The next thing she knew, Renee's window was rolling down. Elizabeth grabbed the attention of the driver, motioning for him to do the same.

"Kiss my ass," she screamed when he complied.

Renee saw the look of seething hatred in both men's eyes and put her head down, muttering, '_oh my god'_, when Elizabeth started laughing. For all they knew, these two guys could be a couple of gun wielding lunatics. Renee could see the headlines now, _'Victim of Road Rage Awakens from Three Month Coma: Tells Doctors to Kiss Her Ass."_

"That's right, you heard me. Kiss my ass. Pucker up baby," her crazy sister yelled while she blew kisses.

"Will you shut up?" Renee ordered, looking at her sister with cheeks a vibrant shade of red, her embarrassment having reached astronomical levels. "That's twice you told him to kiss your ass. I think he got the message."

"What's your problem?"

"You're screaming in my ear, that's my problem. If I wanted that, I'd still be married."

It slipped out before she could stop herself and Renee regretted it immediately. She hated, reviled, loathed, detested…there were no words strong enough to describe how much she hated talking about her ex-husband and the details of their three year marriage.

From this day forward, those years would be referred to as the dark ages and she vowed never to waste another day of her life again, and this new credo included _not_ screaming obscenities at other drivers while they merged into traffic. But at least Elizabeth had quieted down, realizing how upset Renee had become and in an uncharacteristic act of maturity, rolled up the window, joining her older sister as they politely ignored the other cars around them.

As the entrance ramp disappeared, the driver was forced to slam on the breaks and Renee cringed when she heard a loud pop behind them. From her rearview mirror she saw the pieces of tire scattered across the road as that luckless man was forced to pull into the breakdown lane. Not that it would have prevented the flat, sometimes things like that just happen, but would it have been too much to ask for Elizabeth to slow down and let him in?

"See, there it is; karma at its best," Elizabeth said.

"Yeah, right…karma," Renee sighed.

_And you reap what you sow…_

**Author's Note: Never fear, I'm still working on "Jack Be Nimble," I just needed to take a break from it for a little while, but I hope to have the next chapter up early next week. **

**Thanks to emptyvoices, my faithful sounding board and thanks in advance for taking the time to read and/or review.**

**Then there's Elizabeth… you can love her or hate her, but she's meant to be a polarizing character. You can imagine what it will be like when she meets up with Jackson and Elliot again!**

**PS- for those who haven't figured it out yet…I don't own anything related to Red Eye. Phew, I'm glad I got that off my chest!**


	3. Chapter 3

Whether it took place over the phone or in person, the first few seconds of a conversation were the most critical. In fact, they spoke volumes.

That was how Jackson knew when he brought the car to a stop and heard his brother's anxious sigh, that there was no spare tire. Elliot confessed sheepishly upon exiting the vehicle that he'd had a flat six months ago and replacing the tire had slipped his mind. _Peachy._

That was how he knew by the tow truck drivers' cheeky expression as he stepped out of his vehicle and found two _men_ without a spare tire, that he thought Jackson and Elliot were morons; and Jackson knew he could plead his case all he wanted – nothing would change that assessment.

That was how he knew by the carnivorous grin on the face of the garage attendant, that he was about to be ripped off and there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

Three hours and an exorbitant amount of money later, they were back on the road. No sooner had they passed exit 47, when traffic came to a stand still. Rarely did they reach a speed over 15 miles an hour as they made their way to Maine inch by mind-numbing inch. By the time they arrived at the hotel, it was 5:00 p.m.

Jackson stepped out of the car and stretched his legs, taking a moment to enjoy the fresh air. It was so clean, invigorating; he loved the smell of the ocean. After this assignment was complete, he'd have to take a _real_ vacation.

Elliot was the designated bell hop, a penance for his monumental fuck-up, and as he carried their bags to the lobby he stopped short after passing a blue Honda Civic.

"Would you look at that? What are the odds?" he asked.

"Odds of what?"

"I memorized that wench's license plate. I thought that when we had some down time, I might look her up; maybe put a bullet in her head when she stepped out to get the mail or something. What do you think?"

"I say we check in before we do anything. We really can't afford anymore delays."

Later, he would kick himself for saying those words out loud. He thought that since they had made it to the hotel, they were home free, but upon check in, when Jackson reiterated his request for room 109, the look on the employee's face as he scurried into the backroom to fetch the manager told him that all was not as it should be.

_God damn it…_

After all these years, it had finally arrived; this was the worst day of his life.

"I'm sorry, sir. I know you specifically requested that room. There's a note of it right here, but the girl who booked your reservation…she's new. There must have been a mistake," the manager apologized.

"Well, fix it," Elliot demanded. "It's not our fault that some chick working the day shift can't read or write."

"Calm down," Jackson ordered, putting his hand on his brothers' shoulder to silence him.

"I'll call their room, I'm sure we can remedy this situation," the manager offered.

"We'd appreciate that," Jackson said, hoping to diffuse the situation.

He watched as the manager dialed room 109 and waited for its' occupants to answer. After 6 rings, the harried man hung up the phone, giggling nervously as he turned to face Jackson.

"There's no answer. I can try again in an hour or two and if they're out for the evening, I'm sure we can straighten things out first thing in the morning. Until then, you can get settled in room 106 and your first nights stay will be on us."

"Nice," Elliot whispered as they walked to the room.

Despite it all, Jackson did not lose his cool; he never did – not in public. Creating a scene would be unprofessional and worse yet; people would be more likely to remember him. Jackson preferred to be forgotten. He maintained his quiet composure until he stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

"You're taking this all in stride," Elliot observed. "What's gotten into you?"

"You have a remarkable talent, Elliot," he said calmly. "You make the shots no one else can even _dream_ of making. I've never seen you miss; not even once. There's just one thing I don't understand."

"What's that?"

"Why would God waste that kind of talent on a moron like you?" he asked, driving his fist into his brothers' stomach. "You're a worthless waste of human life."

Unprepared for the sucker punch, Elliot doubled over gasping for breath before he fell to his knees.

"_You'd better pray_," Jackson thought.

"Jack…!" he began to yell.

Jackson stepped behind his brothers kneeling form, placing his boot in the center of the younger mans back; he pushed forward with all his strength, sending Elliot toppling to the floor.

"Keep your mouth shut, Elliot. If it weren't for that one talent, you'd be lying on that trail next to McPhee. You've been nothing but a pain in the ass for as long as I can remember."

For the first time that day, Elliot did the smart thing; he shut his mouth and lay quietly on the floor. Other than his staggered breathing, he was silent. Silence didn't mean that Jackson was finished with him, new found obedience wasn't much help either and when Jackson grabbed a fistful of Elliot's hair and pulled his head back roughly, he was greeted with a look of fearful anticipation that was positively delightful.

"Who goes 6 months without replacing a spare, dipshit? What would have happened if that tire had gone flat while we were leaving the McPhee job…or any other job for that matter? Gee officer, he was already dead when we got here," Jackson mocked, releasing his grip on Elliot's hair.

Elliot rolled onto his side, curling up into a protective ball as Jackson loomed over him. Everyone seemed to have a natural fear of Jackson's temper and did their best to stay in his good graces; everyone except Elliot. Elliot always relied on the baby brother defense, but tonight it wasn't going to work. The only guarantee Jackson could make was he would not strike Elliot in the face or the hands. The former, because he needed Elliot to make that shot tomorrow and the later, because a man with two black eyes and a bloody nose seen walking the halls of a busy hotel would draw unwelcome attention. Jackson utilized a series of body shots to help quell his anger and felt the tension in his body begin to melt away as he repeatedly drove his foot into his brothers stomach.

"I'm sorry, Jack…please," Elliot begged.

The attack stopped; the baby brother defense not quite dead after all. Jackson softened, seeing the little boy who had always tagged along behind him. The one who had always idolized his big brother, hoping that someday, he'd grow up to be just like him. Elliot tried, but he just couldn't get his shit together. Despite that and despite the repeated screw ups, Jackson still loved him and something about hearing his brother beg just didn't sit well.

He helped Elliot stand and guided him to one of the twin sized beds, before opening the sliding glass door to let the fresh air in.

"Tell me what you see?" Jackson asked.

"The ocean…"

"And?"

"Sand…boats …"

"Do you see a big yellow house?"

"No."

"That's our problem. That's where our target is and unless you want to stand on the beach and fire your shot, which I'm afraid might be a tad conspicuous, we need to get into room 109," Jackson said as he began to pace back and forth.

"You heard the manager; he's going to switch the rooms tonight or tomorrow at the latest. It's not a big deal."

Jackson looked away from his brother, taking a long look at the ocean, feeling somewhat disenchanted realizing that he had traveled all over the world, but hadn't seen a thing. He never spent more than a few days in one location before he moved onto the next job. The only constant in his life had been Elliot and it was time to fill him in on the details.

Just as he was about to do so, a loud, but all too familiar voice bellowed from just outside their patio door. "I'm going to the bar!" she yelled and moments later, a drop dead gorgeous blonde with legs a mile long walked right by their room; never even bothering to glance in Jackson and Elliot's direction.

There was no denying that this was the girl who had run him off the road hours before. He'd never forget _that_ face; the one he hated and desired at the same time. When he first saw her, he couldn't deny the stirring he'd felt in the pit of his stomach, among other places. He wasn't blind; but then she had opened her foul, cavernous mouth and her beauty had disappeared within it. She was strident, obnoxious, and certainly not lady-like.

She was a haughty bitch and Jackson had promised himself that should they ever cross paths again, he'd teach her that silence was a virtue.

"Do you think those girls are in 109?"

"With the way this day is going, I guarantee it," Jackson answered, shaking his head.

"Do I get to kill her?" Elliot asked, seeming to perk up just a bit.

"Take a number."

But if loud mouth, the new nickname Jackson had bestowed upon her, felt the need to announce her plans so openly, it meant that her traveling companion was back in her room, all by her lonesome.

He remembered her well, the not-so-ugly duckling. He'd overlooked that retiring passenger at first. Any man would have, what with a living Barbie doll behind the wheel. On second glance, Jackson had liked what he saw. She appeared to be smaller than her friend, but it was hard to tell for certain with the way she slouched, as if the weight of the world hung around her shoulders. She had short, dirty blonde hair that just barely reached the nape of her neck. With those wide eyes and delicate features, Jackson couldn't help but be reminded of poor Mrs. Woodhouse in 'Rosemary's Baby'. It made sense, considering that the woman driving the car was most likely the devil.

In stark contrast to her companion, she was demure, submissive; a woman who obviously knew her place. Jackson had liked that about her. Maybe his luck was beginning to change? If she were alone in that room, charming his way inside would be all too easy. The poor thing was probably starved for attention after spending so much time dwelling in the shadow of that shrew.

"Go to the bar; keep an eye on loud mouth," he ordered.

"What are you planning?" Elliot asked suspiciously.

"I'm following my gut. I'm going to scope out room 109, but first, I need a drink," he answered, pulling two beers from the mini bar and passing one to his brother. "There's something else, something in that room. I have to get in there tonight."

**Author's Note: I'll explain why Elizabeth and Renee didn't answer the phone in the next chapter, which will feature plenty of Elizabeth's musings…should be fun! **

**I hope you all enjoy this chapter. Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thanks to everyone who has read and/or reviewed.**

**And for those of you who are wondering; this story is set just before the events of Red Eye. Lisa will probably make an appearance in this story, but not until the very last chapter (s)**


	4. Chapter 4

Not even a minute had passed since they'd dropped their bags off in their room and already, Elizabeth was dragging her out the door, announcing they were going to the Kittery Outlet Mall.

"Can't we go to the beach?' Renee pleaded.

"No way; I'm hungry and we must shop! There will be plenty of time to lie on the beach this afternoon."

Off they went, though Renee could have passed for one of the living dead, shuffling along behind her sister, half asleep on her feet. She couldn't help but wonder where her sister found all this energy. Frankly, it was ridiculous.

They stopped to eat first and lunch passed by uneventfully. Renee ordered a Caesar salad, finding that fatigue didn't really foster ones appetite and Elizabeth ordered a lobster roll, which she promptly sent back, complaining it smelled like fish. Renee just had to roll her eyes as the waiter patiently tried to explain that she had ordered seafood; it was supposed to have a certain odor. In the end Elizabeth got her way _and_ a free lunch, par for the course really.

"How come hot weather makes everything stink?" her sister just about yelled as they stepped from the restaurant into the mid-day heat.

'Some might call that the smell of the ocean, my dear," Renee answered.

"Yeah, it must be low tide…nasty."

_If I keep rolling my eyes like this, they're going to stay that way_

When they got back to their room, Elizabeth dropped their shopping bags in the middle of the floor for Renee to trip over and ducked into the bathroom. She emerged less than a minute later clad in a bright pink bikini that didn't leave much to the imagination.

"I'll meet you there in ten minutes," Renee called after her when it became apparent that Elizabeth wasn't in the mood to wait.

She took a moment to sit on the welcoming bed; then she decided to lie down, convincing herself that she just needed to rest her eyes for a few minutes.

She woke to the sound of a phone ringing, but by the time she got up to answer it, the person on the other end of the line had hung up.

"Oh well, if it's important, they'll call back," Elizabeth said as she stepped through the sliding glass door, startling Renee.

"Where have you been?"

"Let's think about that, shall we? Bathing suit, wet towel, suntan lotion; I'll take ocean for $400, Alex."

"Point taken, you little brat; how long was I asleep?"

"Two hours," Elizabeth answered, glancing at her watch.

"Why didn't you come back and get me?"

"You were exhausted. Besides, I figured if you got your sleep, I'd stand a better chance of getting you to come to the bar with me."

"No, you know how much I hate bars," Renee said, already shaking her head.

"Fine, I'll go by myself and you can lay there like a slug wondering why you can't find a new man," she said, dropping her wet towel on the floor and slipping on a pair of denim shorts.

There was no point trying to explain to Elizabeth that what she had just said was hurtful. Elizabeth lacked the forethought and self censorship that came with maturity. Renee just kept hoping that one of these days, she'd think before she let words escape her mouth at random.

"I'm out of here," she announced.

"Dressed like that?" Renee asked.

There was Elizabeth dressed in shorts, sandals and a bikini top; that was it.

"Babe, when you're born this beautiful, you don't even have to try to look good. It just sort of happens."

"Get out of here," Renee laughed while pretending to swat at her.

"Alright, alright, you old fuddy-duddy" she said as she walked away.

Moments later, for her own benefit, she heard Elizabeth yell, "Yee haw, I'm going to the bar!"

Try as she might, Renee couldn't get back to sleep or even relax. Elizabeth's unintentional slight still troubled her. Finding a new man; throughout her separation and ultimately, her divorce, she hadn't even glanced at another man. She felt drained, uninterested. Now she was starting to feel like a freak. Some of her other friends had gone through nastier divorces than hers' and it seemed that within weeks of their _separations,_ they'd begun cruising the singles bars. Was Renee wrong or prudish for holding back?

She sat up in bed and looked into the mirror, then stood up. Running a hand through her short hair, she continued to evaluate herself. She was still young, practically a baby. Her hair was a bit too short though. It might be a good idea to grow it out…maybe. She had read in Glamour magazine that men prefer women with longer hair; women like Elizabeth.

_Damn it!_

Still with the bridge of freckles dancing across her nose and her long lashes, she was cute; maybe not Cindy Crawford, but not Quasimodo.

She turned her back to the mirror and glanced over her shoulder.

"And I do have a nice butt, you've got to give me that," she said as she turned around and grabbed her chest. "And everything's still where it's supposed to be."

A gasp coming from her left side caused her to turn around abruptly. Elizabeth, in her frenzied clamber to get drunk, had left the door wide open and a middle aged couple with their two small children in tow just happened to walk by at that precise moment.

"It's not what you think," she started to say before they ran off.

Running people off the road, getting busted as she felt herself up in a hotel room; could the day get any worse?

She shut the door and pulled the drapes, all the while telling herself that she'd never see those people again; things weren't so bad. Hoping to find something, anything to take her mind off of things, she spotted the mini bar. Whatever was in there would be horribly overpriced, but that didn't matter. It wasn't alcohol she craved, she was looking for caffeine. A nice cold Pepsi would do the trick, the colder the better and if Renee could keep her distracted during check-out, Elizabeth probably wouldn't even notice the charge to their room. How expensive could one soda be anyway? Deciding to throw caution to the wind, Renee grabbed the ice bucket along with the room key and headed out.

No sooner had she stepped into the hall and towards the ice machine when she saw a man out of the corner of her eye. When he saw her, he stopped, leaned against the wall and folded his arms across his chest.

"Well kiss my ass!" he said.

"Excuse me?" Renee asked as she turned to face him with the ice bucket clenched firmly in her hand. What she planned to do with it if he were some raving lunatic was something she hadn't really thought about yet.

But he wasn't a total stranger, she recognized him and she'd never forget those eyes. They looked a little tired at the moment, like he'd had a rough day, but damn if they weren't still beautiful.

"Don't tell me you've forgotten already?" he asked, flashing a mischievous grin. "Your friend was most adamant that I plant my lips firmly on her backside."

"That was my sister, Elizabeth. She's not a bad person, she's just very…direct, assertive," Renee said. The whole time, she ran her free hand through her hair, the other one going numb while it grasped the bucket of ice.

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You seem a bit tense."

_Oh, I just got caught touching myself a few minutes ago, nothing much. How bout' you?_

"I don't know, I guess I'm just worried you might be mad at me for the flat tire," she answered.

"Oh that?"

"Yeah."

"We had to wait an hour for the tow truck driver to show up,"

"That's terrible."

"And I don't even want to tell you how much they charged us for a spare tire,"

"I'm sorry."

"And it took me twelve hours to get here from Connecticut…it's supposed to take less than three," he said with a pout.

"I'm so, so sorry," she kept telling him.

"Have I made you feel guilty enough yet?" he asked with that same playful grin. This one was a trouble maker, she was sure of it.

"You're getting there," she admitted. "Just don't ask me for money. That's where I draw the line."

He laughed at her lame joke. It was a nice, genuine laugh that made the skin around his eyes crease ever so slightly. Those subtle wrinkles told her that they were approximately the same age, with him being just a bit older.

"No, I wasn't going to ask you for money. I was wondering if you'd like to have a drink with me? There's a little restaurant with a nice bar right here in our very hotel. In fact, my brother's there right now."

"So is my sister," Renee said as she winced. "I hope they haven't run into each other."

"Could be a match made in heaven?" he suggested.

"Or a bomb waiting to go off," she countered.

"Then we'd better get down there before they get into some kind of drunken brawl and embarrass the both of us."

"I'm sorry but I'll have to pass. I just hate the whole bar scene," she said and finally realized that she had to put this ice bucket down. Her fingers were frigid.

"Why's that?"

Visions of many a Friday night spent cruising the down town bars for any sign of her husband came to mind. She would always find him sooner or later, though it was usually later. If he had established any sort of pattern, it would have made things easier, but no, he had to pass out in a different bar every time. Within a year, Friday night binges had turned into weekend benders and his drinking became a financial burden; that's when the fighting had begun in earnest. Eighteen months, three marriage counselors and two expensive attorneys later, the marriage was over.

"Because people go to bars when they want to hide from their responsibilities, or waste their lives," she answered.

As she opened the door, she looked back at him, noting the look of disappointment on his face. "Thank you for the invitation…," she began to say before her chilled hand involuntarily dropped its' cargo.

_Smooth, Renee, real smooth._

She dropped to her knees, keeping her focus on the floor in the hope that he wouldn't see how embarrassed she was.

"Let me help you," he said, kneeling down next to her.

It caught her by surprise when she felt his hands grip her own and begin to rub briskly. "It's the least I can do," he continued. "If I hadn't been rambling about my problems…"

"No, I just…," she said before her voice trailed off.

She couldn't stop looking at his hands and the way they enveloped hers; it was nice. But he was looking at her expectantly, waiting for her to finish her sentence and she had completely forgotten what she'd been about to say.

Instead, she grabbed haphazardly at the cubes of ice strewn about the carpet.

"Leave it," he said, urging her to stand and letting his voice drop to a whisper. "Ice melts, I won't tell anyone you spilled."

"I'd appreciate that… I don't even know your name," she realized.

"Jackson," he said.

"I'm Renee."

"Pleased to meet you, Renee," he said, taking a step towards her. "And I hope I'm not being too presumptuous, but I think I know just what you need to unwind."

"What's that?" Renee asked, a little red flag going up in her mind. Perhaps this perfect gentleman wasn't so perfect, or even a gentleman for that matter.

"Can I come in?"

**Author's Note: Thanks to emptyvoices for helping me work through some of this dialogue and for being a dedicated sounding board.**

**So, do you think Renee's a pushover or will Jackson have to work just a little bit harder to get into that room? Time will tell!**

**Thanks to all who have read and/or reviewed. I appreciate your feedback.**


	5. Chapter 5

"Can you come in?" Renee asked while taking a step back. "Pardon me, Jackson but that is pretty damn presumptuous. What did you think; that you'd pour fifteen dollars worth of drinks in me and then we'd go back to my room?"

"That's not what I…" he started to say.

"Would that be adequate reimbursement for your flat tire?"

"I just thought that…"

"Let me guess, Elizabeth was too beautiful, right? You thought the Plain Jane would be an easy lay?"

"Can I finish my sentence before you label me a pervert?" he asked.

"By all means; I'm dying to hear what you have to say."

"I was simply suggesting that since you don't like the bar scene, maybe we could grab a couple beers from the mini bar and have a drink on the beach."

_Oh shit…_

Her jaw dropped and she had this overwhelming urge to find a large rock, the kind that would be just big enough for her to curl up and die under. Why had she jumped down his throat like that? She felt like a witch and then there was the unsuspecting man she'd unloaded upon; he looked disappointed, offended and he pushed the ice bucket back into her hands impatiently as he turned to leave.

He took a few steps before he turned around, looking rather indignant as he did so.

"Sorry to be so blunt, but your sister is rude and obnoxious. You can hear her mouth running all the way from York to Bar Harbor. You on the other hand, seemed like a nice person. I just thought we'd hang out, have a couple of beers and maybe we'd both forget how shitty the rest of this day has been. I didn't mean to offend you," he said and began stalking away.

If there was a way to feel lower than dirt, Renee believed she'd just found it.

"Wait!" she called after him. "Jackson, I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions."

He stopped, but this time he didn't turn around. He just hung there in the hallway and she knew the next words that came out of her mouth were critical. She couldn't help but wonder why she cared so much – probably because she knew what it was like to have her feelings hurt, to be reprimanded like a petulant child and she hated the idea of causing someone similar pain.

She told herself to keep her mouth shut, not to give out too much personal information to someone she'd just met, but the words slipped from her mouth in a rather awkward, stuttering manner regardless.

"I'm just a little on edge. This was supposed to be a getaway weekend…my divorce was just finalized…yesterday. I didn't mean to take it out on you."

Her startling admission worked and when he turned around, his face had softened considerably. His expression denoted that _he _was now the one feeling like a bit of an ass.

"No, it's okay. I should have chosen my words a bit more carefully. I can see where you might have gotten the wrong idea," he admitted.

"Can we just start over?" she asked, waving him inside. "I think we've both earned a drink at this point."

He walked into the room and went straight to the patio door, pulling the drapes open so that he might admire the view. Renee thought his actions were a little impetuous; strutting into her room as if he owned the place, but she welcomed the light and potential witnesses strolling past the door from time to time. A lunatic intent on killing her wouldn't have done something like that, she convinced herself. Feeling a bit more relaxed, she turned her back to him and began rifling through the mini-bar.

"The view, it's perfect," she heard him sigh.

"Yeah, it's beautiful up here," she responded, pushing past cans of soda until she'd found what she'd been looking for. "Hey, which do you prefer, Shipyard or Geary's?"

"Why don't you drink them both, Renee. I think you're going to need it."

"What?"

It sounded as though he'd taken several steps towards her since she'd turned around and his voice was somewhat muffled, like he was speaking to her through a wall.

What she saw when she turned around was not what she would have expected. He was kneeling by the edge of the bed, lifting the corner of the mattress and searching underneath. He seemed perplexed as he stared at the box spring and nothing more. Renee stood there with the drinks in her hand, watching this bizarre display.

"What, did you lose a contact or something?" she joked.

He looked up at her with a smug grin on his face.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"You can drop the naive, divorcee act, although I must say, it was pretty damned convincing."

"I still don't know what you're talking about."

"What do you want, Renee? I like to keep things as professional as possible, so I'm willing to make a deal. Are you working for someone else or are you just looking for a quick buck? What's it going to take to make the two of you go away quietly?"

"Honestly, I don't know what you're talking about. I think you need to leave," Renee demanded, starting to wonder if beer cans could be used as an effective means of self defense.

"Stop fucking with me. I have a job to do and this stopped being entertaining about two minutes ago. I suggest you tell me where it is."

"Where what is?" she asked backing towards the door.

"You're very good," he said, shaking a finger at her. "But you're not going anywhere."

Renee threw the beer cans at him, missing by a mile and ran towards the door in an act of sheer desperation. No sooner had the "He…" of "Help me!" left her mouth when she felt him grab her from behind. With one arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close to him and his hand clamped firmly over her mouth, he spun her around. They landed on the bed with a heavy thud, the springs of the mattress crying out in protest. He was still on top of her, pushing her face into the bed and then she felt something cold pressing against her temple. Funny how even though she'd never even touched a gun; her mind was able to identify the feel of that cold metal so quickly.

"This is getting out of hand," he hissed in her ear. "I'm going to take my hand away from your mouth. All I ask is that you don't scream. Do you think you can handle that?"

She mumbled "yes" into that sweaty palm, feeling only a slight measure of relief as he pulled his hand away and shifted some of his weight off of her.

"Please," she begged. "Take whatever you want, the money, the car, anything; please, just don't hurt me."

"I just said I was willing to make a deal, what makes you think I'm here for your possessions?" he asked as if she were stupid for not having guessed his intent.

"Oh God, please…don't," she continued, feeling herself start to shake. If he didn't want her money, what else could he possibly want?

_This is his fault_, she thought, letting the blame fall on her ex-husband, the one who had methodically stripped away her self-worth, the one who drank them out of house and home, then had the nerve to say _she _had no value. She was lucky to have him, or so he'd led her to believe. A woman like her, so assertive, so aggressive; who would ever want to deal with emotional problems such as hers? What better way for an insecure, cowardly man to keep a woman by his side then convince her she was worthless she later wondered?

But someone had wanted her, just minutes ago she had met a man, a seemingly charming, unassuming…nice man. She had taken the risk, thrown caution to wind and look where it had landed her. If this Jackson character didn't kill her, Elizabeth surely would. _Elizabeth! _

Renee took a deep breath and steadied herself. There was no one to blame and even if she convinced herself that someone else was at fault, what good would it do her? She had gotten herself into this situation all on her own; this reality was her doing and it was up to her to make sure that she and she alone dealt with the consequences of her actions.

"Do it and leave," she said. "But promise me you'll keep it between us; don't touch Elizabeth."

"What?" she heard him scoff before he practically jumped off the bed. She remained there, motionless; keeping silent until he ordered her to roll over.

"What do you think I am?" he asked with his head cocked back at an awkward angle and his face scrunched up, "a rapist?"

He kept alternating his gaze between her and the patio door. She heard him mumble, "Jesus Christ," under his breath before he finally pulled the drapes shut. Then he sat down next to her with that look of disgust still evident on his face, watching as she wiped her tears away.

"You don't have a clue, do you?" he asked.

"I told you, I don't know what you're talking about. We were out all day and then I fell asleep, I woke up five minutes before I ran into you. If you would tell me what it is you're looking for…,"

"Pointless," he said, though it was clear to Renee that he believed her story. "I have a feeling that your sister knows what I want, which makes you pretty much worthless. But I won't kill you, not while I still owe you that drink."

He kept the gun trained on her but his expression, his whole demeanor had changed. She'd seen that look before, the one that told her he didn't see her as an equal. When he had thought she was working for someone else, whatever that meant, she had detected a tone of respect in his voice. It was gone now. He knew she was innocent in all of this and in his eyes, she'd become insignificant. She watched him as he walked around the room, peering through her shopping bags, opening her luggage, turning the room upside down. He said he was looking for something. He never said what and as he grew more agitated, he directed his attention back to her.

"One little threat and you just give up," he sneered. "Just a little intimidation and you offer to spread your legs for me. It's sad really, makes me wonder what that so-called marriage of yours must have been like."

He leaned in close, stroking the gun along her cheek. "What happened, Renee? Did he break you? Don't be ashamed to admit it, happens all the time."

Her face flushed and she stared at the floor. If this little man, with his little gun had an itch he needed to scratch, that was fine. Lord knows, she'd seen plenty of that in her day and if she'd learned one thing, it was not to take the bait. If he couldn't get a rise out of her, he'd lose interest; if he lost interest, maybe he'd go away? That's what men like him do.

"Maybe he broke you just a little bit," he whispered in her ear, grabbing her face and turning her towards him when she tried to look away. "Not a very nice guy, was he?"

That was too close, too personal, Renee pulled away from him and he allowed it, though she could still see his reflection in the mirror, watching her. Better not to look at his face, she decided. She'd either break down and cry or lash out at him; neither option would get her very far.

"Alright, give me the silent treatment if you want," he relented. "We'll just sit here until Elliot and Elizabeth come back."

"She'd never bring him back here," Renee countered.

"Don't be so sure, Elliot has his ways, I have mine. In the end, we always get the job done."

**Author's Note: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter and a special thanks to emptyvoices for encouraging me at a time when I am feeling particularly lost and uninspired. Without her, this chapter might never have existed and "Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick," would be dead in the water.**

**The dreaded writers block….pray for me!**

**Anyway, thanks to all who read and/or review. I appreciate your input.**


	6. Chapter 6

Jackson had told her he'd settle for the silent treatment until Elliot and Elizabeth showed up, but after ten minutes of staring at the wall, listening to his hostess try to steady her breathing, he realized he was getting bored.

Drumming his fingers against the arm of his chair, he looked at her. She was sitting perfectly still on the edge of the bed, looking rather pale and drawn. If not for her glassy eyes and the occasional sniffle, she could have passed for a statue.

"Aren't you going to cry, Renee?" he asked, smiling just a little when she jumped at the sound of his voice.

He could see the signs, her bloodshot eyes, her bottom lip protruding ever so slightly; she was so close to breaking; he wondered why she didn't come apart.

Not that he wanted some hysterical female on his hands, but it seemed that the jobs he and Elliot had been given in the past six months were bringing them into closer contact with the so-called civilian population. Jackson had been away from that aspect of humanity for so long that he could no longer identify with her actions. If he was going to be working with people like her, he felt it was important he understand.

"No," she answered, blinking rapidly hoping to clear those watery eyes.

What a liar. The tough little girl routine was very cute and somewhat endearing, but it couldn't last. He made a wager with himself; one that would test his abilities to read people and predict their actions which, he had to admit, might have become a bit rusty from disuse. Based on the brief period of time they'd spent with each other, he assumed she'd recently freed herself from an abusive marriage of some kind. She was probably used to lying, hiding her tears, bruises – whatever the case may be. Still, talented actress that she was, he'd give her ten, maybe twenty minutes before she suffered some sort of break down. If he was correct, he'd find a way to reward himself – if he was wrong, it would be a major wake up call.

"You think I'm going to kill you, don't you?"

"The thought had crossed my mind," she said.

Snappy comeback, he was beginning to think she was a little stronger than he'd given her credit for. She had a way about her and really, he didn't want to kill her; that would be a shame. Elizabeth…that was entirely different situation – but if they played it smart, Jackson would let both of them walk away. Two young girls disappear; people start asking questions and things get messy – that was the last thing he needed.

"I'll be honest with you, Renee, based on your current attitude and the rapport we had earlier, I'd say you have a 60 percent chance of surviving."

He sat there, across from her, watching as his words sank in. He'd given her a fair estimate, she should be thankful that she knew where she stood; most people were never given that chance. For some reason, her feet caught his attention. Her toes were curled up so tight, Jackson wondered if they were receiving any blood flow at all. Did she always do that when she was nervous?

"Over the next twelve hours," he continued. "You'll be required to make some tough decisions and you'll be asked to entertain certain offers. The choices you make will determine whether you live or die."

"And Elizabeth; what are her chances?" Renee asked and again, Jackson had to smile. This girl must be an angel; who else would actually give a damn about that harpy?

"Keep her in line and her chances are every bit as good as yours. Do you think you can handle that?"

"I'll try."

"Good, that's what I was hoping you'd say."

Jackson looked down at his watch; five minutes had passed and she wasn't even close to crying. In fact, it seemed as if she was pulling herself together. He hoped he wasn't wrong about her; he'd hate to lose a bet

"I know you must think I'm a psychopath, but I don't enjoy killing. It's just something I do to pay the bills, Renee. If it weren't for some idiot at the front desk fucking up my reservation, you and your sister would have stayed under my radar and I bet we would all be a lot happier right now."

"Killing; who are you going to kill?" she asked.

"_So many questions,"_ he thought as he scratched his head, maybe she was a reporter, or an attorney? Whatever the case may be, she was obviously missing the point that she'd be better off just playing along.

"Don't ask too many personal questions, Renee. The less you know about all this, the better," he advised.

The minutes were ticking away, it wouldn't be long before Elizabeth came back, they both knew as much and Renee was starting to get edgy again. She looked back at the floor, her breathing, once under control, accelerated again. If she knew how tired he was right now and how much he _didn't_ want to be here, she might relax but he'd never be able to get that point across. Cherishing the few remaining moments of peace they had left and knowing that the odds of conducting a civilized conversation once Loudmouth showed up was slim to none, he decided to enjoy a final _polite_ tête-à-tête with Renee while he still could.

"What's your last name?" he asked, trying to turn her attention to the mundane.

"Ridgewater," she replied and by the way she clamped her hands over her mouth, he knew she had answered the seemingly commonplace question without even thinking. He doubted the rest of her answers would be as forthcoming.

"Is that your married name or your maiden name?"

This time, she hesitated but a wave of his gun loosened her lips.

"It's my married name."

"Are you going to change it back?" he asked, wondering why he even gave a damn about these details.

"I don't know, I haven't really thought about it yet."

"What's your maiden name?"

"Spampinado."

"Spampinado; Jesus, that's terrible," he laughed. "No wonder you got married."

To his surprise, she expressed amusement, although it sounded more like a snort than a laugh to him. She was shaking her head in disbelief and he felt like asking, "_what's the matter, Renee; never been stuck in a hotel room with a professional killer/comedian before?"_

"How long were you married?" he asked, continuing this meaningless line of questioning in an effort to kill time. Trivial banter like this was good practice, he told himself. His gift of gab was the reason he could smooth over almost any situation with a few well chosen words, it was in his best interests to make sure that skill remained finely tuned.

"Don't ask too many personal questions, Jackson," she said in defiance, throwing his words back at him. "The less you know about me, the better."

A stupid remark on her part, one he equated to poking a grizzly bear with a short stick. He'd been fairly kind to her through out all of this; mockery was uncalled for and would not be allowed.

"I admire the sarcasm, but my questions aren't rhetorical," he threatened.

Jackson did his best to stare her down but she couldn't keep eye contact with him for more than a second or two; it was a waste of time. Even in the hallway, when things had been friendly between them, she couldn't do it. The only time she had come close was after he'd manipulated her and she had wrongfully apologized for not inviting a stranger into her hotel room. He realized he wasn't blazing any new trails, someone had done this before and it made him feel small, like the class bully who beat up kids half his size so he could steal their lunch money. But there was another part of him that relished the way she trembled when he stood and approached her. A solitary tear slid down her face and she moved to brush it away, gasping when he caught her hand. He watched that tear, unable to take his eyes off of it as it made its way to her chin and ultimately fell into her lap. Ten minutes had passed, his instincts on her had been correct; her tears were his reward.

"I like you, Renee," he said softly as he toyed with her almost non-existent bangs. "You're smarter than your sister. You're more attractive too; do people ever tell you that?"

Another snort; Jackson hoped it was her nerves and that this wasn't the way she actually laughed. If so, then it wasn't her best attribute.

"I never said Elizabeth was unattractive," he admitted in an effort to stay believable. "But she's rough around the edges. She'll never be like you; soft, delicate. Don't think for a second that she doesn't know it. Why else do you think she screams for attention?"

He let go of her wrist and she withdrew again, wrapping her arms around herself, not believing a word he said.

"What about your ex-husband? Did he ever tell you that you were beautiful?"

"You mean during the two hours a day that he was sober?" she asked with bitterness dripping from every word.

"I suppose."

"No, that wasn't his way."

"What was his way? Why did the two of you divorce?"

"I'm not going to answer that. Don't you have anything better to do than ask me questions?"

"Not at the moment," he replied. "Besides, the fact that you don't want to answer, tells me there's a story in there somewhere. Allow me to draw my own conclusions if I may. He was a violent drunk, used to beat you every night, am I close?"

"No."

"Oh, I know; I bet he used to come home in the middle of the night; he'd climb into bed reeking of beer and cigarettes, rub those awkward hands of his all over you. I bet you hated every minute of it, but a woman can't deny her husband, can she? It must have been hell."

"My life is none of your damn business. A pathetic little reptile like you wouldn't understand anyway."

"Enlighten me," he demanded, brushing off her insult.

She gave him the cold shoulder and he looked down at those toes again. They pissed him off, _she_ pissed him off and he kicked at her bare feet. His harassment continued in the face of her silence. She didn't fight back, didn't say anything but she did draw her legs against her body, wrapping her arms around them and those toes uncurled. He drew a deep breath, confident he'd won another battle.

"I said enlighten me, Renee."

"It was pretty much what you're doing right now," she answered and he heard her voice crack before she hid her face from him, giving into those tears.

Jackson watched her with morbid curiosity, wondering what had driven him to push her so hard and feeling just a tinge of remorse for having done so. He backed away from her and turned on the television. If the neighbors heard her blubbering all night it might draw suspicion. The laugh track of whatever sitcom he'd just tuned into would mask that quite nicely.

"They're just words, Renee. What harm can they do?"

"Words got you into my room, didn't they?"

"Point taken," he said, feeling energized by the exchanged they'd just had. It had been ages since someone had won an argument with him. He missed that kind of stimulation.

He turned and Renee tensed at the sound of the door knob being jostled. It went on for a couple seconds, before Elizabeth, and he knew it was Elizabeth by her foul mouth, began to pound on the door relentlessly.

"Renee, get off your ass and open this door. I have to pee!"

"The two of you are sisters; you're sure of that?" Jackson asked, pulling Renee to her feet as she shook her head in affirmation. "Unbelievable," he mumbled.

She was shaking and he pressed the gun into her back as they approached the door, hoping it would give her the incentive she needed to remain calm.

"Remember what I told you," he counseled as he moved behind the door. "Don't get cute and you'll be fine, you both will. Got it?"

"Yes," Renee whispered.

"Good, now open the door. Elizabeth has to pee, or so I hear."

Renee took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes before she unlocked the door. Elizabeth almost killed the both of them when she swung it open; Renee staggering a bit before she regained her footing and Jackson thrusting a hand forward, thinking it better that the door not collide with his nose.

"What took you so long?" Elizabeth asked as she stormed inside and slammed the door behind her. "God, I have to take a leak."

As her younger sister stumbled towards the bathroom half drunk and unaware of his presence, Renee looked at him, wondering what she should do. Jackson just chuckled; still dumbfounded that Renee and Elizabeth shared the same genes, taking delight in the way she blushed with embarrassment as Elizabeth made full use of the facilities without bothering to shut the bathroom door.

"You should have seen the bathrooms at the restaurant…disgusting. People are pigs," Elizabeth ranted as she flushed the toilet and stepped back into the bedroom.

"That's like the pot calling the kettle black," Jackson said, wondering if Elizabeth saw the irony in calling other people pigs, when she hadn't even taken the time to wash her hands.

"Excuse me, douche bag, who the hell do you think you're talking to?" Elizabeth started, immediately going into attack mode as Jackson knew she would. "Where did you find this thing, Renee? Get it out of our room!"

"Ahh, I see the petite flower I met on the interstate is alive and well," Jackson responded.

"Damn right she is, and if memory serves, I believe I just told you to get the fuck out. Bye-Bye, little man."

"Stop it, Elizabeth," Renee said in a voice that was borderline assertive.

Elizabeth would think she was being reprimanded for her rudeness, but it went so much deeper than that.

Elizabeth had just started World War 3…..

**Author's Note: Do you get the feeling that Elizabeth's in a lot of trouble? Still, you've got to love her assertiveness. **

**Thanks to emptyvoices, my ever vigilant sounding board, and to all who take the time to read and/or review.**

**The writer's block is beginning to clear. I'm hoping that things will flow smoothly from now on. This was supposed to be my easy story, short chapters, a simple plot but it's getting longer and more involved each day. I guess I can't help myself!**


	7. Chapter 7

Renee fought the irresistible urge to scream as she watched Jackson cross the room. He looked daggers at Elizabeth and anyone else would have run for cover; anyone except her headstrong sister.

"Elizabeth," Renee said one last time.

It was too late, her final warning fell on deaf ears and Renee knew that there was no possible way this situation would end well.

There was Elizabeth, still standing in front of him, waving goodbye with a smirk on her face so obnoxious, it must have taken years to perfect. Couldn't she tell by the way Jackson traveled across the room in little more than three steps that he meant business? Maybe with the efficiency of his movements, she just didn't have time?

He would clamp that open hand over her mouth and be done with it, Renee was certain of that. Jackson was not the first person on the face of the earth to have such an inclination; just the first to act on it and Renee hated to admit it, but a tiny part of her wanted to see Elizabeth's reaction. He had said before that he didn't intend to kill either one of them; what else could he do?

But Jackson being Jackson did the unpredictable and Renee was stunned to see Elizabeth's entire countenance disappear beneath that outstretched hand. Gripping her face, he shoved her backwards with such force that when she landed in the chair, it tipped backward, nearly toppling over.

Elizabeth glared up at him in shock, emitting several nonsensical gasps before she was able to string a few words together. Discourteous treatment was foreign to her and as expected, she didn't take it well. Always accustomed to getting everything her heart desired, Elizabeth knew that if her good looks didn't win the day, her caustic attitude would. Jackson alone seemed immune to her charms and that was the one thing, the only thing, Renee liked about the man.

"Who the hell do you think you are?" she screeched as she struggled to get up.

In response, Jackson drew his gun and pressed it against her cheek, forcing her back down. Elizabeth froze and fell back into the chair, looking defiant. Renee could only hold her breath, praying that her sister wouldn't do something that would get the both of them killed.

"Sit down and shut up, Elizabeth," Jackson ordered and for the first time in twenty-six years, Elizabeth was silent.

Renee sighed with relief, suddenly realizing that, in all this chaos, he had turned his back on her. Her silence had led to her being forgotten completely. She took one step toward him, hoping to assemble the courage needed to act. She'd seen situations like this in the movies countless times; where an unlikely hero would always emerge and save the day. She didn't know if she came from strong enough stock to take such action – this sure as hell wasn't a movie, but if she could just grab his arm, maybe together, she and Elizabeth could overpower him? Psyching herself up, she took one more step, immediately backing away when the floor creaked, causing Jackson to spin around.

"And what do you think you're up to?" he asked as he focused his attention back on her. "I thought you and I had an understanding?"

He gave her a light shove, not even close to what Elizabeth had received but she found herself back on that mattress nonetheless. When she landed, he was right there, standing over her. He bent over and whispered in her ear, "It's about time somebody put her in her place. Tell me you didn't enjoy that on some level, darling?"

Again, he held her face in his hand, forcing her to look at him and studying her every expression, even though he knew she couldn't help him find whatever it was he was searching for. This was for his enjoyment only. Intimidation was the name of the game; she wouldn't be allowed to look away until _he_ was ready.

"Tell us what you want," Renee pleaded and he smiled at her, his thumb lightly stroking her cheek.

"How bout a 'thank you'; I think I just did you a favor," he responded.

The way he spoke to her, that gentle manner, it made her feel as if the two of them were co-conspirators and he _knew,_ he knew that she had enjoyed the way he'd treated Elizabeth, even though she would never admit it.

They couldn't take their eyes off each other and it was Elizabeth who broke the staring contest, coming to Renee's defense.

"Get away from my sister, you pig," she said in that frigid tone of voice normally reserved for Renee's ex-husband.

"You could learn a thing or two from her, Lizzy," Jackson warned. "She knows better than to taunt a man with a gun and she knows when to keep her mouth shut. Don't you, Renee?"

His free hand began to toy with her hair again and Renee was beginning to wonder how and when she had managed to become the object of his affection.

"Renee, are you alright?" Elizabeth asked, looking in her direction for just a moment. Renee, though thankful for the concern, knew the sudden attention meant that Elizabeth had gone into attack mode and less than two seconds later she directed her indignant gaze back towards Jackson, ready to do battle. "How dare you pull a gun on her and force yourself into our room?"

"Relax, Loudmouth, I didn't force myself into anything. She invited me in after we bumped into each other in the hall, and here I thought I'd never see the two of you again. I think it was fate and I suspect your big sister thought so too. In fact, with a little more time and some finesse on my part, you more than likely would have come back to a "Do Not Disturb" sign, Lizzy," he taunted.

Her lips curled into a monstrous sneer and she did her best to kick at him, grunting in frustration when every last one of her blows fell short.

"Are you an idiot, Renee?" Elizabeth asked in disbelief after coming to the decision that if Jackson wouldn't suffer her wrath, someone would.

"It wasn't like that. He lied to me, sort of…," Renee said softly in an effort to plead her case.

"He sort of lied to you? What the hell does that mean?"

"I, I d-don't…,"

"W-w-what the fuck is your problem? Spit it out!"

Renee could feel herself bracing for an all out verbal assault. Over the years she'd developed a highly tuned radar for such things and all the signs were there – Elizabeth's clenched fists, her flared nostrils; she was about to explode.

"Don't be upset," Jackson chimed in. "Renee was just looking for a little companionship, someone who would listen to the stories about her drunken ex, your little road trip, all of it."

Elizabeth never bothered to look at Jackson after his remarks and he didn't seem to care. He felt so confident that he had just put her in her place that he even went so far as to turn up the TV in an effort to mask the outburst he knew was coming. He was having a ball simply provoking her, but he never guessed the impending detonation would be directed at Renee.

"I'm sick and tired of always being the one who has to come to the rescue whenever you get mixed up with one abusive asshole or another, Renee. Don't you think you've played the damsel in distress long enough?"

"Elizabeth…," she began to say.

"No, shut your mouth, I'm tired of your excuses. Jesus Christ, Renee, dogs learn faster than you do!"

Renee was prone to two very different responses in the face of a verbal attack. One was to shy away, as she'd done with Jackson earlier. The other, was to come out fighting. She didn't like to do that, part of her considered it sinking to the abusers level, but enough was enough. She had spent too many years of her life putting up with other people's shit. She would be a door mat no longer.

"Want to know what I'm sick of, Elizabeth?" she asked, not giving a damn if her sister wanted to hear the answer of not. "I'm sick of you constantly running off at the mouth. Me, me, me, all fucking day long; maybe I let him in so I could listen to something other than the ramblings of a mindless twit?"

"Oh, Renee, I'm very impressed. Didn't know you had it in you," Jackson said with glee, obviously entertained by the discord he'd caused between the two sisters.

"Well, I guess Chris was right all along, wasn't he? You are worthless," Elizabeth continued, although Renee wondered how she could speak with her jaw so firmly clenched. "Now look where your stupidity has landed us. This is your fault, Renee. What have you got, shit for brains?"

Renee absorbed the words without a hint of emotion, never showing that each slight, each foul word felt like a punch in the stomach and she caught herself flinching involuntarily several times during Elizabeth's tirade. Her go around with Jackson hadn't been nearly as intense; but hateful words were always harder to take when they came from someone you loved.

"Enough," Jackson ordered and glanced down at Renee who sat there seething and feeling a bit disappointed that he'd called an end to their sparring match just as she'd been ready to unleash upon her sister. "I thought your husband was the abusive one?"

"Ex-husband," Renee snapped.

"Yes, ma'am," he said and strolled over to Elizabeth, snatching her purse from her hands and dumping the contents on the ground.

"Hey!" Elizabeth protested as he kicked her personal belongings, scattering them across the floor.

Renee looked at the contents lying strewn around her feet. There was nothing extraordinary, the typical contents of a woman's purse; cosmetics, a day planner, Elizabeth's cell phone, nothing that could possibly hold his interest.

"Where is it?" he asked.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Elizabeth answered.

Jackson stepped back a bit and pointed the gun straight at her head. Words couldn't describe how anxious Renee felt by his ever increasing level of frustration, but Elizabeth, her sweet obstinate, Elizabeth didn't seem to care.

"I didn't want things to get messy, but you've forced my hand, Lizzy."

"So go ahead and shoot me, then you'll never find out where it is."

"Are you admitting you have it?" he asked, denoting a glimmer of interest.

"Maybe," she responded and winked at him mischievously.

Elizabeth was driving him nuts and he began to pace back and forth before he grabbed her empty purse and threw it across the room. As his rage built, he dumped all the shopping bags onto the floor and sifted through them frantically. Renee was about to tell him he'd already searched there, but thought it best to keep her mouth shut. Elizabeth, on the other hand, seemed delighted with her work.

"Enjoying your little tantrum?" she asked. "I hate to break it to you, but you'll never find it there."

Jackson stood in the center of the room, breathing heavily, with his hands resting on his hips. They had spent so little time together and Renee could already read him like a book. She knew that he'd pulled himself together; she was looking at a man who was deep in thought and that was a dangerous thing.

"You're a self-centered bitch, aren't you, Lizzy?" he finally asked and the look on his face told Renee he'd reached a decision of some kind.

"That I am," Elizabeth answered.

"You think you've got the better of me?"

"Oh, I _know_ I do."

He laughed in the face of her arrogance and with the grins still fresh on both their faces, he turned to her and said, "But you love your sister, don't you? Even though you treat her, and everyone else you meet, like shit, you'd be heartbroken if anything happened to her."

Renee, who had been content in her role as the silent spectator up to that point, looked at her sister; Elizabeth was no longer smiling and Renee was filled with a sense of foreboding. All that talk about the rapport they had formed, all the assurances he'd made – they were null and void. Renee knew she was in trouble even before she became the center of attention.

"The way I see it," Jackson began as he took several steps towards the bed. "I've torn this room apart, searched everywhere. How clever are the two of you?" he asked.

Looking Renee up and down he scratched his chin, pretending he was on the verge of solving some great mystery.

"Where might a woman hide something she doesn't want found?" he asked and pressed the barrel of the gun against Renee's head. "We're going to play a little game, Lizzy. I'm going to go on a Scavenger Hunt of sorts and you can tell me if I'm hot or cold. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Get away from her," Elizabeth warned.

"Oh, don't worry, you'll get your turn; but Renee's been so quiet all this time, I'm concerned she's feeling left out."

"If you lay one hand on her…"

Jackson smiled at Elizabeth disobediently, waving his hand in the air and letting it fall on Renee's knee, giving it a playful squeeze.

"You'll what? Face it, Lizzy, you can't do shit because I'm the one with the gun. Are you beginning to understand how this all works?"

Elizabeth was quiet as Jackson's hand traveled up Renee's body, coming to a rest on her shoulder and he pushed her backwards. Her heart began to race when she realized he was following her and soon they were lying side by side.

"That's quite the protective sister you've go there, Renee. A little cooperation and this never would have happened. I want you to think about that when you're deciding who to blame."

"For Christ's sake, Elizabeth, tell him where it is!" Renee beseeched.

"I can't do it, Renee. If I tell him where it is, we're as good as dead."

_What the hell was wrong with her_? Renee wondered. Her sister had just thrown her to the wolves and for what, the greater good? She couldn't believe it.

"That's a pity," Jackson said, shrugging his shoulders. "Okay, Lizzy, I'm going to start at her feet and you make sure to tell me when I'm getting warm, okay?"

**Author's Note: I know that Renee has and is taking quite a beating in this story, but bear with me; she's got more than one trick up her sleeve. It's always the quiet ones you have to watch out for.**

**Thanks to everyone who has taken the time to read and/or review. I'm glad you're enjoying the story thus far.**

**I'm currently planning a MAJOR rewrite of "Be Still My Beating Heart" which I may or may not post. Until then, updates on "Jack Be Nimble, Jack Be Quick," might slow down a bit, but rest assured, the story has not been forgotten and incidentally, I hope to have another chapter up within the next few days.**


	8. Chapter 8

The air itself felt heavy. She could hardly breathe and Elizabeth remained in her chair with a mulish pout, saying nothing.

"Your toes are curled again, Renee. Is something troubling you?" Jackson asked while he stared at her lower body, looking a bit too eager to begin what he had told Elizabeth would be a scavenger hunt, but in reality was a flat out strip search.

"You're the one about to commit sexual assault; is there something on your mind?" she asked, matching his sarcasm, which hung in the air like a tangible thing.

Could she reach him on some level, she wondered? Could she remind him that she was more than a purse or a shopping bag; that she was a human being who could not be torn apart and thrown aside, not without damaging effects? Did he even care? There were times, earlier on, when she was convinced he did. But when she looked at him now, she saw nothing. Where once his eyes had been filled with light playfulness and cunning, there was a void; she was nothing to him.

"Wondering if I'll go through with it?" he asked.

"I know you will. You'll do whatever you feel you need to do. I just don't know if you'll enjoy it."

The gun, pressed so firmly against her temple relented and that expression; pursed lips and dancing eyes – it filled her with an almost irresistible urge to punch him in the face. He seemed taken with her response as well as her lack of fear.

"Bless your heart, Renee; so insightful. I guess I've finally found a woman who understands me. It's a shame that you'll probably hate me by the time this is over."

And that was surprisingly insightful on his part. It was true; they did seem to understand each other. That's how Renee knew he'd skip her sandal clad feet because it was a waste of time but he wouldn't start below the belt either – he'd give Elizabeth a chance to speak up. For the time being, her fate was in her sisters hands and she wasn't finding much comfort in that notion, not with a gun against her head and his free hand resting on her stomach.

"And it's a shame we didn't meet under different circumstances," he whispered in her ear.

Renee knew this was more sarcasm on his part. The intimacy lost with the presence of his firearm and crafty eyes. He watched Elizabeth constantly and Renee could feel the length of his body pressed against hers; he was so tense, ready to spring into action if her sister made even the slightest movement.

"Jackson, you don't have to waste your time. I don't have what you're looking for," Renee explained, being sure to use his first name in the hope that she could rekindle that rapport or whatever it was they had shared earlier. If that didn't work…well, she had tried to insert a bit of logic in there as well since he seemed so preoccupied with time

He huffed; Renee knew he had almost laughed and her mention of time made him glance at his watch. Judging by the look on his face, she decided that wasn't a good thing.

"I'm proving a point, Renee. Sooner or later, one of you will crack. That's what meek people do. For your sake, I hope its Elizabeth."

She started to respond but a cutting glance from him told her there would be no more back and forth. She swallowed, shut her eyes tight and waited, gasping once when his cold hand slipped underneath her shirt. His invasive search gave her goose bumps and she scurried away from him, running into the head board before she even fully realized she was moving.

"I'll scream," she blurted out, unable to hold silent any longer.

"I'll shoot you," was his hurried response and he crept towards her, his hand slipping back underneath her clothing. "Don't do that again," he warned.

He softened after that. The light in his eyes flicked back on as if he suddenly realized how harsh he'd been and he grew congenial, almost playful; satisfied and forgiving now that he did indeed have them where he wanted them.

"Relax, Renee; it's just some light groping. Nothing too hard core, I promise. You might even enjoy it if you'll just give me a chance. I've been told I have a nice touch and, Lizzy," he called, turning towards her uncharacteristically quiet sister, "feel free to put a stop to this at any time."

She didn't. Elizabeth just stared ahead, probably wishing for the same things Renee was hoping for; a knock at the door, some kind of momentary distraction, a chance – however fleeting it may be. There were no rescues to be had that evening however and the sound of her zipper being tugged down by an impatient hand permeated the room.

"Better hurry, Elizabeth," and Renee knew he had to be serious if he were addressing her by her proper name, "once I get my hands wet, so to speak, I might not be able to stop."

"Alright, alright; it's in my purse," Elizabeth blurted out, finally accepting her defeat, though Renee knew it killed her to do so.

"I already looked there. If you're lying to me…,"

"You did a half assed job," Elizabeth interrupted. "It's in the green plastic container…where I keep my tampons, my super absorbency tampons."

Renee saw her sister's smug grin and felt Jackson cringe at the mention of feminine hygiene products but he took Elizabeth at her word and the fingers that had been dancing playfully along her lower abdomen were suddenly gone. He sat up and plucked the container from the floor, cringing again when he was forced to remove the aforementioned tampons, which he threw to the floor, shaking his hand afterward as if he'd been burned by the offending objects.

When he turned the container upside down, Renee saw something silver fall into his hand. Small, metallic; it looked like a bullet but he pocketed the object before she could truly make an identification. If it were a bullet like she thought, why was it so important?

"Sit up, Renee" he ordered, placing an unwanted hand on her shoulder and bringing about an abrupt end to her musings.

"Take your hands off her," Elizabeth demanded and Renee snorted at the absurdity of that statement, drawing everyone's attention.

"Keep it up, Sis; your orders have done us a world of good so far."

"Oh shut up, Renee."

"When did you find it?" Renee asked in a strangled voice that barely concealed her anger.

"Calm down. It's not like this was some grand conspiracy. I came back from the beach to see if you were awake yet, you weren't, so I checked the bed."

"Checked the bed?" Renee asked.

"After the Super 8 debacle," she began, drawing a curious look from Jackson. "I always make sure I haven't been short-sheeted and when I checked, I saw it."

"Why the hell didn't you tell me that you found a _bullet_ in our hotel room?"

"Because I knew you would freak out and call the cops or something just as stupid and then our whole vacation would be ruined. I was going to tell you about it later, but then you let Billy Badass into our room and I had to protect our insurance policy."

"Insurance policy my ass; don't try to spin this around and blame it all on me. If you were going to protect _anything_ you could have told him where it was right away or you could have kept the bullet hidden and your mouth shut, Elizabeth. You don't let some stranger grope your sister for five minutes and _then _break down. Everybody lost; where's the logic in that?"

"Screw you, Renee," Elizabeth said in anger, picking childish words because she knew she had lost the argument. "Better yet, let your new boyfriend do it for you. You could use a good….,"

Renee sat up and turned her back on Elizabeth, blocking out whatever obscene phrase had just emerged from her mouth. She didn't want to look at _anyone_ right now and she sure as hell wasn't going to talk to Elizabeth while she was in this state. A bit of silence would suffice, but Jackson was no where near satisfied with that. Jumping to her defense as he always did when Elizabeth attacked, Renee felt the mattress dip when he rose from the bed.

She tried her best to ignore the goings on. The curtains were parted, less than an inch but she could see outside and she kept staring at the sky. She imagined herself out there; walking on the beach, going for a leisurely swim – anywhere but this room. The sun had begun to set and she wondered just how much time had passed since Jackson had first stepped foot in their room.

Across the bay, she could see a large yellow house with an expansive deck. Even in the fading light she could make out the patio chairs; a table, pretty much everything and she began to piece together why this room and that bullet were so important. The revelation was horrible. The house was deserted now, but she knew it wouldn't stay that way for long and when the occupants arrived, Renee knew she would witness a murder. Thinking about what would happen to her and Elizabeth after the fact made her feel dizzy and the room began to spin.

She had to close her eyes, blocking out the visual of that beautiful house across the bay and the doomed family that lived within. There was a moment of brief tranquility but try as she might; she could not tune out the sound of Jackson and Elizabeth arguing in hushed tones.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked in astonishment. "You took a simple case of bribery and turned it into a mess."

"That's your fault, not mine. You should have mentioned the money sooner."

Renee heard him laugh again and could just imagine him throwing his hands in the air.

"You're a piece of work, Lizzy. What do you do for a living? I have to know."

"I'm a nurse."

"No shit? That's terrifying. I mean that truly scares the shit out of me. I hope I never get sick," he said.

"Well, if you do, you better hope you don't wind up in my E.R." she threatened, eliciting another laugh from him.

The way they fed off each other was at once entertaining and dangerous. Like a married couple who spent their entire lives bickering until one finally shot the other.

"Jackson," Renee called softly in hopes of disarming the ticking time bomb.

"Hmmm?"

"Can I have a tissue?" she asked.

The seething hatred he felt for Elizabeth melted away when he turned to face her. Without saying a word he bent down, retrieving a small packet of Kleenex that had fallen from her sister's purse.

"Anything for you," he said, rebuilding the wall of sarcasm as he walked toward her.

He was so focused on her that he didn't even see the shopping bag in his path. Before Renee could warn him, he stumbled over it, and almost landed on top of her before he recovered.

He exploded, grabbing the remaining bags and throwing their contents around the room, kicking any article of clothing that crossed his path.

"What is all this shit?" he cursed and he was so close to losing control that even Elizabeth knew to keep her mouth shut.

Jackson stopped suddenly, taking several deep breaths and looked at the cornucopia of short skirts and low cut tops that littered the floor. Too in synch with his thought patterns for her liking, Renee knew what he was going to say even before he spoke.

"Renee, I know you don't dress like a whore; where are your things?" he asked.

"I hate shopping, I didn't get anything," she answered somewhat truthfully.

"Then why are you here? Why stay within a quarter mile of an outlet mall if you hate shopping?"

"Elizabeth paid for the trip. I just wanted to get away."

"So you decided to trade your emotional baggage for Elizabeth's shopping bags?" he asked taking a closer look at her shorts, all faded and torn. One might think she was keeping with the latest trends, but she could see in his eyes that he was considering another alternative; that she couldn't afford anything new, that everything she owned was second hand, purchased in thrift shops or passed along by Elizabeth. "Why was your sister so interested in money? Don't lie to me, Renee."

"It's none of your business," Renee said, unable to make eye contact any longer.

"Tell me now or I'll make a phone call, have your credit checked and make it my business, understand?"

"Debt," she said curtly, looking him straight in the eyes for a second before the shame of her admission got to her.

"How much?"

"Twenty-seven thousand."

"Courtesy of your ex?" he reasoned. "Poor thing, you can't catch a break, can you?"

"I don't need your pity, Jackson."

"Are you sure about that?" he asked with a wink. "Don't be embarrassed, Renee. This is a good thing, actually. Now we can negotiate. Here's the deal; I'll make sure your debt is washed away and then some. You can start fresh, you can have nice things and all I ask in return it that you keep your mouth shut."

"If we take your money, you'll leave us alone?" she asked in disbelief. How could it be that simple?

"If that's what you want," he answered, raising an eyebrow. "But don't be so quick to write me off. I'm a man of means; you would never want for anything. I rarely drink and when I do, I never get drunk," he continued, walking closer. "You'd be a hell of a lot happier than you are now. I promise you that."

"I could never be happy with a killer. Go find some narrow-minded ditz who'll tell you what a tough guy you are. _You'd_ be a lot happier," she said.

"And you can find yourself another alcoholic and have a _happy_ life if that's what you want. As long as those lips stay sealed, I couldn't care less. But don't say I didn't try to help you out."

By the tone of his voice she couldn't tell if that was wounded pride talking or more sarcasm, but a knock at the door pulled him away before he'd given her an answer. The look in his eyes before he'd turned away stayed with her though; surprise, quiet rejection. Renee was sure this was a man not used to hearing the word 'no' and secretly, she rebuked herself because a tiny part of her wondered what a new life would be like, even if were funded with blood money donated by a contract killer.

"Look who's here," he said, moving away from the peephole and shaking his head in disgust as he opened the door.

His brother, who Renee now knew as Elliot stepped inside. His cheeks were an especially brilliant shade of red as he conceded to both the lateness of his arrival and Jackson's ability to control the situation perfectly well without him.

"Great job keeping an eye on her, Elliot; first class all the way," Jackson scolded with his arms folded across his chest. "Would you care to explain yourself?"

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**Author's Note: I can't believe it's been a month since I updated this story! Time flies, I suppose and I know I said previously that I would be taking a break from this fic, but the chapter came together suddenly and I couldn't resist.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices, my ever patient sounding board and to everyone else; thanks for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	9. Chapter 9

"It wasn't my fault. I had to use the bathroom. I was gone for less than two minutes and when I got back she'd left," Elliot began to explain and by the tone of his voice, Renee expected him to drop to his knees at any minute and kiss Jackson's feet.

"Then where the hell have you been all this time?"

"I went back to our room and hung out. When you didn't show up, I figured you must be here. It wasn't my fault," he repeated.

"It wasn't my fault," Jackson said in a mocking, singsong tone of voice. "Do you understand that every time you screw up you put my life in danger? I'm a Manager, Elliot; that means I have to take responsibility for your actions as well as the actions of everyone else in my charge. Sometimes, shit happens and I can deal with an accident or two, but I won't die for an idiot; even if he is my brother. One more mistake and I'm cutting you lose, are we clear?"

Renee looked at the younger man who had just plunked down on the opposite end of the bed, looking as if he were about to cry. He was a paradox; a youthful, almost innocent looking man who just happened to kill people for a living. And the way he looked at Jackson with such overwhelming awe was laughable.

"I'm sorry, Jackson," he said, crushed by the scorn of his older sibling.

When his eyes met Renee's, she gave him a gentle smile. It was genuine. She'd been in that place, callously rebuked by a loved one; she could identify with that specific sort of anguish.

Elliot seemed to mistrust her kind gesture at first, but after a moment his face brightened and he smiled back. Feeling embarrassed by the silliness of this whole exchange, she blushed and turned away from him. Hearing him clear his throat, she glanced upward and found his eyes still focused on her and then he winked. This time, he didn't even try to mask his broad grin. _You're more like your brother than you realize._

During the incident on the highway she had been doing everything in her power to become invisible. She'd barely had time to look at Jackson and hadn't paid much attention to Elliot at all. This was the first time she had really seen his face and damn if he wasn't every bit as handsome as his brother, if not more so.

Closer to six feet tall, he was the younger of the two and appeared far less worldly. His hair was shorter than Jackson's unruly locks and much darker, almost black. The only thing missing was the piercing gaze. Though his eyes were blue, the shade was closer to navy. But even if the color had been the same, his stare could never be as penetrating because he lacked his brother's zeal.

Jackson caught Elliot's subtle flirting but thankfully, seemed oblivious to her participation. Regardless, he sat between the two of them, effectively blocking her from Elliot's view. This callow young man, this juvenile as she'd come to think of him, had everything going for him and probably wasn't as dumb as his brother implied. He had no reason to live in Jackson's shadow but allowed himself to be walked upon anyway, saying nothing as the illustrious Manager stared him down. Renee wondered if Elliot still had a mind of his own or if he were so blinded by hero worship that he could no longer see straight.

"Focus," Jackson ordered.

"I am focused," Elliot insisted.

"Then let's test that, shall we? I'm going to back to our room because I need to call the front desk and tell them that we are more than happy with our arrangements and a change won't be necessary after all. Then I need to get the equipment so you can set things up for our morning endeavor and to be honest with you, if I don't get out of this room, I'm going to kill somebody. Do you think you can keep your eye on a couple of women for ten or fifteen minutes? Is that too much to ask, baby brother?"

"I can handle it."

"You'd better," he warned.

Jackson stood and approached the door, tucking his gun into his jacket and rubbing fervently at his temples after he did so. "Renee," he called, not even bothering to look at her, "when I get back, you and I are going to finalize our deal, one way or another. As you can tell, I have pretty much reached the end of my rope, so please tell me that the two of you will do the smart thing and stop giving me trouble."

"I have questions," Renee said, drawing looks of unabashed shock from everyone in the room.

"You _what_?" he asked.

"Why are we supposed to trust someone like you?"

"Someone like me," he reiterated. "I don't like your attitude, darling."

"Shut up, Renee," Elizabeth said.

"Don't tell me to shut up, god damn it," Renee said as she rose from the bed in a fury. She was tired of being silenced, tired of being forced to sit on this damn bed and tired of being everyone's captive. "I want to know this isn't some kind of game. Maybe you're going to try and frame the two of us."

"Now you're the one who's going to get us killed," her sister accused.

"He could be full of shit. They're going to kill someone tomorrow, don't you realize that? What if the cops trace the shot back to this room? Our names are on the registry, Liz!"

As soon as the words, 'full of shit' had left her mouth, Renee had wanted to take them back, but it was too late. She saw Elliot bite his lip; he glanced back and forth between her and Jackson with concern and she never even had a chance to see Elizabeth's expression before Jackson rushed her. He spun her around, pushing her through the bathroom door and it was all she could do to maintain her footing. She collided with the bathroom wall and heard the door shut, then he was on her, pressing her face into that structure and twisting her arm behind her back.

"You're hurting me!"

"Shut up, Renee; _shut up_."

She gasped, finding it hard to breathe with her body pinned between him and the wall; she couldn't take a deep breath even if she'd wanted to.

But all she could feel was the pain in her arm and his mouth pressed against her ear. In the background she could hear Elizabeth's protests. They stopped as quickly as they had begun, silenced by Elliot.

"Stay in your seat," she heard him order. "Don't fuck with him when he's like this, you'll only make it worse."

Renee closed her eyes, doing her best to follow the overheard advice. Jackson just held her there and his heated exhalations washing over her ear and the side of her face conjured up the image of a raging bull. She wondered if his eyes were red right now and if steam were pouring from his nostrils.

They were alone in this confined space and the only light came from a street lamp outside. It filtered through the small window, casting the two of them in the faintest of lights; not that it mattered really, she wasn't facing him. The only thing she could see was the wallpaper. It was horrible, covered in flowers the size of toasters. It had a 1970's look about it – sickening décor for a sickening experience.

Just like Elliot before her, "I'm sorry," were the only words that came to mind.

"Do you think I'm stupid?" he hissed in her ear.

"No."

"Questioning me in front of your sister and my own brother; are you trying to humiliate me?"

"No," she insisted.

"I don't like this new attitude of yours, Renee. It's going to get you killed. I haven't lied to you, darling; there's no reason for this sudden insubordination. Why are you doing this?"

"Because, uh," she began to say, trailing off when he twisted her arm a bit tighter.

"Because?"

"Because you want me to sell my soul without a question asked. It's not fair. I have a right to know…to know that we'll be safe when you're gone."

His furious breathing stopped, the rage quelled. Renee breathed a sigh of relief until he spun her around and this time, it was her back pressed against the wall. He kicked her legs apart, forcing her to balance precariously on his left leg. There wasn't a significant difference in height between the two of them but it was enough to throw her off balance. Her toes just barely touched the ground and she felt as if she might fall to one side or the other but his hand clenched her jaw, pressed the back of her head against the wall and held her steady.

"I gather from your license plate that you're from Virginia and since I'm a kind hearted man, I'll take a little time out of my day to explain to you how the world works. You are a rube. Your sister is a rube. The two of you lack the forethought and the ingenuity to orchestrate an assassination. Even if the police do trace the shot back to this particular room, they'll see you for what you are; a couple of southern hicks and believe me, Elliot and I will not leave a shred of evidence in our wake. So here is what you're going to do; you will sell me your soul as you so dramatically put it and really, I'm happy to have it, then you will spend that money wisely, and by that, I mean discreetly as not to draw attention to your ill gotten gains."

"What about you?" she asked.

"Not sure what you mean by that. Are you trying to say you'll miss me? That's so very sweet of you."

"You know damn well what I mean. How can you be so sure that I won't take your money and call the police the second you drive away?"

"Because if you do that, I'll know and I'll get to you long before the cops pick up my scent. You don't want to meet me under those circumstances, Renee. You've had it easy up until now. You won't believe what I'm capable of when I'm angry, so we're going to be smart about this. A little money will change hands; I don't know you, you don't know me and we all go on our merry fucking way. Sound good?"

"Sounds great," Renee answered, all too eager to have him out of her life.

"Peachy," was his arrogant response.

The conversation was over; there was nothing more to say, which was why she found it so surprising when he didn't release her. The stillness in that moment and what it could potentially mean for her were terrifying. She wanted to speak but didn't know what to say. She'd never dealt with such a domineering personality and wasn't sure how he could be placated.

"You've made your point. You can let me go now, Jackson," she finally managed.

"Listen to yourself; still making demands. Maybe I haven't?" he asked, looking into her eyes and appearing none to happy with what he saw there. He spotted it; the changes taking place within her– an awakening of sorts. She wondered how far he would go to put a stop to it.

"I saw Elliot making eyes at you, darling," he continued. "Still attracting the wrong kind of man I see."

_And so it begins_. The hand that held her jaw fixed in place squeezed hard and the knee she balanced upon began rocking side to side, causing her to do the same as if she were navigating a turbulent sea. He was a lean man. There was not an ounce of fat on him and consequently, she found his knee was rather boney. It made everything seem more vivid. Each time she passed over the crest of that flexed joint, she blushed at the sensations it sent through her; the seam of her shorts only adding to the friction and heat his lascivious motion generated.

When she used her hands to steady herself against the wall, trying to put a stop to this sordid display, he grinned, pinning her hands down with his own and grinding that knee against her gently as if to say 'you can't win.'

"Maybe it's you?" he whispered. "You're the type who searches out the hopeless cases thinking you can redeem them somehow. Wouldn't you prefer a man with a little more experience? It's much less tiring, Renee and a lot more fun."

She groaned softly in response, feeling shame in the knowledge that this intimate contact was not wholly unwelcome. In the short time she'd known him; he'd had a profound effect on her. She had challenged him as well as her sister, winning both arguments and gaining respect and she knew he must respect her since he always tried so hard to throw her off base. Despite his repeated attempts to bring her down, she felt drawn to him on some level.

It was hard to meet those eyes head on, the ones that saw the truth. They were plagued with overconfidence and self assurance because he understood her conflict every bit as well as she did.

Her breath caught in her throat and she had to look away, feeling her body lower and her feet touch the ground as she did so. Her head, which felt like it weighed at least fifty pounds, came to rest on his shoulder. She felt his arms wrap around her and pull her close – a silent acknowledgement that the storm had passed for now.

"Not bad, huh?" he asked softly. "And that's just my knee."

Her hands lingered less than an inch from his body, wanting to touch, wanting to hold him as closely as he held her. Memories of the knock down, drag out fights she'd had with her ex-husband and the making up that had come afterward entered her mind. This relationship she found herself in now was equally as toxic and the fact that she felt an attraction to him at all made her question her sanity. Surely he could sense her impending touch and knew that she was fighting that blasted emotion known as desire. She hated the feeling, but found it almost impossible to resist. Then she thought about his gun. He'd tucked it into his coat pocket and she wondered if her reflexes were true enough to take it from him before he could react.

No, she couldn't lay a hand on him and she knew she was allowing fear and pure animal magnetism to override her better judgment.

"Stop touching me," she said not sure if she was pleading or demanding.

"If you say so," he answered, pulling away and watching as she sunk to the floor. "I'll be back soon. Until then, don't get any bright ideas. Elliot may be an idiot, but I won't be gone long enough for you to put any kind of plan into action."

Then the door opened. Renee saw him walk away, never once looking back as he exited the hotel room. No one dared move even after he'd left, not even her. She sat there on the bathroom floor trying to keep her emotions in check and she covered her mouth to stifle a sob; wondering why every time she tried to stand up for herself, things ended in disaster and how a man who believed sex and violence were inextricably entwined could possibly hold her rapt.

Suddenly a shadow appeared in the doorway; she just assumed it was Elizabeth.

"Are you alright?" she heard Elliot ask, startling her.

"No," she answered and wrapped her arms around herself.

"_What just happened here?"_ she wondered.

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**Author's note: A new chapter in less than one week; I do believe that's a record.**

**There's going to be lots of action in the next chapter so fasten your seatbelts. I'm doing my best to focus on this story, but the next chapter of "Jack Be Nimble" is calling to me and I fear I won't be able to resist. So much writing to do; so little time.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review. **


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm….fine," Renee said in response to Elliot's inquiry.

"Come out here then. I want to keep the two of you together."

She ignored him, standing and walking to the sink, feeling a little dizzy as she crossed the small room.

The image of the disheveled woman reflected in the bathroom mirror was foreign to her. Short hair standing on end, puffy eyes and tear stained cheeks; only one other time could she remember having looked this way. But she had never felt so cold.

"Right back where I started," she muttered.

"What?" Elliot asked and then she heard Elizabeth calling her name, only to hear the nervous gunman issue another threat. "Sit down and be quite; I'm warning you."

"I'm fine," she repeated for all to hear. "I'm always fine."

Would it matter if she weren't? What could be done?

Renee turned the faucet on and ran her hands under the water, wondering why it was taking so long to reach room temperature.

_It wasn't that late when the door opened. He was home by ten and that was a shock. When he stepped into the bedroom smelling of beer and cigarettes, he presented her with a culpable grin and a small bouquet of flowers. The kind one grabs from the market, or any convenience store for that matter. No care or thought involved, just a spur of the moment decision._

"_What are these for?" she asked._

"_I just wanted to show you how much I love you," he said, staggering closer. "Do you like them?"_

"_They're very nice."_

"_Nice?"_

"Oh God," she said and her head fell forward coming to rest on the mirror. The heat and moisture from her breath fogged the glass, mercifully obscuring her reflection.

"What's wrong with you; get out here," Elliot demanded, growing increasingly agitated when she continued to ignore him. "Do what I say."

"_I don't want to," she said, pushing the drunken man she'd foolishly married away from her. She could never understand how men thought half a dozen wild flowers could make a woman forgive a month's worth of misdeeds. She wasn't so easily bribed. "You smell like an ash tray, Chris. Go sleep it off downstairs."_

_He looked at her for a moment, called her a bitch under his breath and she turned her back to him. Just another night in the Ridgewater household; the battle was over. They would sleep in different rooms, live on different floors and continue to drift apart. Both of them knew what was happening. Neither one took action to prevent it. They had tried in the beginning; tried and failed. Now it would seem they were only waiting for the inevitable and wasting their lives in the process._

_Then his hands were in her hair, pulling her backwards, not knowing or not caring about the pain he caused. She would tell herself later that he had caught her by surprise and that's why she didn't fight back._

"_You're my wife," he reminded her, covering her mouth with his own._

"You don't have the right," Renee said softly.

"Jackson told me to keep an eye on the two of you and that's what I'm going to do. Get your ass out here," Elliot demanded after drawing the conclusion that her saddened words were meant for him.

"_A beautiful girl, I married a beautiful girl," he kept rambling as she struggled to get out from beneath him. He didn't even realize it, but he had her face down on the bed with his arm encircling her throat. She could hardly breathe._

"_Chris," she wheezed._

_When he became aware of what he was doing, he pulled his arm away, running his fingers through her then long hair and kissing her cheek._

"_I'm your husband. I wouldn't hurt you."_

_Always so sweet when he wanted something; tomorrow he'd berate her for not having put the flowers in water, then the vase she picked would be wrong and it would go on from there. It never stopped._

"_No." The word ran through her mind but sadly, she never gave voice to it._

"_Just lie there then," he said in annoyance when it became clear to even his pickled mind that there would be no reciprocation._

_Was this his drunken effort to connect with her and make things right?_

_She didn't know why she had just stayed there without offering any further resistance, but she had. In his current state he didn't take long. Five minutes after he began, he passed out on top of her. She rolled his body off of hers and ran into the shower, not knowing that the people she confided in when she finally summoned the courage to speak out would shake their heads and tell her that she should have been stronger than that. They would be disappointed in **her**._

_The next morning she had gone out and cut her hair._

Warm water splashed over her face and there was a moment of relative calm while she collected her thoughts. Then a hand grabbed her roughly and a second later she was in the bedroom again; caught by surprise.

Elizabeth was there. Renee saw her for a split second before an antagonistic Elliot entered her field of vision.

"What the hell is the matter with you?" he asked, thinking that by sticking his face in hers and invading her personal space, she would crumple.

_Just as she had for his brother_; who's soulful eyes cut straight through her and saw everything. The one who'd shoved her against the wall, threatened her, put his hands on her. The one she had almost rolled over for…again. She was angry with herself for ever letting it get that far.

When Elliot saw the look on her face and the fact that she was shaking, he relented.

"Don't let Jack get you so upset. His bark is worse than his bite."

"You should know," Renee said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he growled, pointing her toward the bed.

"I'm not going to sit on the bed anymore. I'm going to stand."

That was that; strong words that left no room for debate, coming from a woman who would not lie there and take it anymore. Elliot watched her for a moment; taken aback by her sudden strength and wondering if he should press the issue. He decided against it.

"I bet you take shit from him all the time, why?" she asked.

"That's the way it goes in this business; you have to work your way up. He went through the same shit. Jackson's just making me better."

"Making you better how? By telling you you're an idiot. You ride his coat tails and now you're his babysitter," she said, walking towards him and finding it surprising that he backed away. "And for what; so you can grow up and be just like him?"

"Shut up," he demanded.

"No; you could be more!"

From the way his head flew back, people would have thought she'd punched him. He hadn't been expecting words of encouragement, especially not from her.

"Give me your hand," Renee said.

"Not a chance."

"I just want to see your left hand. You can still hold the gun in your right," she reasoned, moving to the side so she was standing directly in front of Elizabeth. "You can see us both. Shoot me if you think I'm playing games. I really don't care."

If she didn't know better, she'd swear his was in awe of her unexpected brazenness.

"He said you were a coward," she told him and watched as his stern expression faded. "I don't think that's true; give me your hand."

With reluctance, he extended his hand. She took it in her own and turned it palm side up, tracing along the deep lines etched across it. They traveled every which way and told stories of their own.

"When I was in high school, I used to have this crush on a boy who lived a few houses down the street," she began, seeing him look at her as if to say, 'what's your point?' "His father used to read tarot cards, tealeaves, and palms. I guess that's what got me into it."

"And what does my palm tell you?" he asked skeptically.

"Well, your heart line and the way it stretches across your entire palm, tells me that you're very dependent on relationships. Is that true?"

"Yes," he admitted.

She showed him her hand. Her line was just the same.

"Not always a good thing, is it? Sometimes we can't move on even when we're being hurt, because we're afraid," she admitted, allowing a tear to slide down her face and making certain that he saw it fall.

He didn't say anything but she could feel him tense and she could see his eyes dart back and forth, searching the room nervously.

"And your shortened head line tells me you're intelligent and intuitive, despite what others may say."

"Stop, that's enough," Elliot said as he pulled his hand away and let it fall to his side.

"But you're insecure; your fate line tells me as much," she finished.

He jerked away when she tried to touch him again. Did he think she was some kind of witch, she wondered. Still, she persisted, reaching for him with both her hands.

"I'm just going to touch your arms. You're still in control." That was probably a very important thing for him. She made sure he knew it.

Her hands brushed against his arms in a comforting gesture and though he seemed leery, he allowed it.

"I want to tell you something. Please listen to me," she said, standing on her tip toes as if she wanted to whisper in his ear and feeling that gun press against her hip.

"I don't think you're like him. You're not a bad man, Elliot. You deserve a long and happy life. But you're a horrible assassin," she said and slammed her forehead against his nose.

He fell backwards, one hand clutching his face, the other aiming the gun. Renee grabbed that outstretched arm and began to wrestle with him. He was stronger than her, a great deal stronger, which is why she felt relieved when she saw Elizabeth at her side, joining the effort.

Together, they repeatedly slammed his hand against the floor, forcing the gun from his grip as he issued a dejected moan. She and Elliot locked eyes when the gun hit the floor. She grabbed for the weapon, he grabbed her. His short nails grated down her arm as they tussled over the gun and out of desperation, Elizabeth landed squarely on his back and bit into the back of his neck. Elliot growled and drove his elbow into Elizabeth's side but by the time he could direct his attention back to Renee, she was pointing the gun straight at his head. Never taking her eyes off him, she stood up and began to back away, wanting to put some distance between him and whatever foolhardy decisions he might decide to make.

Elliot smiled at her while he wiped the blood from his face and indeed, she and Elizabeth had done well. That made it all the more confusing that he didn't seem too concerned with the fact that _she_ was the one wielding the deadly weapon.

"You won't shoot me," he said as he moved to get up.

Would she? She didn't know if she could take a life and thought it was unfair that she should even be forced to make such a decision. Then Elizabeth grabbed the gun away from her and the choice was out of her hands in more ways than one.

Elliot froze and the smug grin left his face.

"I will," Elizabeth warned.

"Then do it," he challenged. "Once Jackson finds out about this, I'm as good as dead anyway. You'll be doing me a favor."

He looked so pathetic, so broken. Renee felt guilty about manipulating him, fearing it made her no better than any other abuser, but he and his brother had started this. It wasn't wrong to fight back.

"Now what do we do?" Elizabeth asked.

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**Author's Note: Wow, it's been a productive week for me!**

**Finally, Renee's strength is beginning to show. She managed to outsmart pretty much everyone in the room. I'm so proud of her.**

**As always, a special thanks to emptyvoices for her input and suggestions and thank you all for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	11. Chapter 11

"Are you sure?" Jaime, the girl at the front desk and if he remembered the name correctly, the same one who had screwed up the reservation in the first place asked for the third time.

"Yes, I'm sure. The room is perfect and I really don't see the point in disturbing the guests in room 109, especially this late at night."

"So, you're sure you're sure?"

Jackson cupped his hand over the receiver and groaned. What did he have to do to get the point across; scroll it across the beach in gasoline and set it ablaze?

"Yes, I'm sure," he repeated and if she dared ask him if he was sure he was sure he was sure, he'd have no other choice but to walk down to the lobby and kill her.

"Thank you so much, Mr. Thompson."

"You're very welcome and you can call me Greg."

"Thank you Greg. Enjoy your stay and remember that the first night is on us."

The assumed name was firmly in place and with that, the conversation was finished. _Not a moment too soon_, he thought. Even he reached a point where having his ass kissed was no longer enjoyable.

Jackson gathered his bags and started toward the front door. He'd been gone less than five minutes but already he was beginning to worry. Telling Renee he would be gone for ten, maybe even fifteen minutes hadn't been entirely accurate but he preferred to think of it as airing on the side of caution as opposed to an outright lie. She wouldn't take him at his word anyway, he knew as much and he secretly wondered just how quickly she could spring into action.

It shouldn't have been long enough for something to go wrong but Commander Fuck-Up, otherwise known as Elliot had the uncanny ability to ruin the day. Jackson had to get back.

Something brought him to a halt; his intuition, instinct, whatever is was, it was screaming at him to stop and _think._

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath when he realized what that inner voice was trying to tell him.

Jackson looked into the mirror which hung from the wall at an awkward angle. It was horribly askew, much like his mind apparently, and he knew he was staring into the face of a man who had lost his focus, if only for a moment.

"_Over what?"_ he wondered.

He was an idiot. To be seen coming and going from room 109 _'moving in'_ as he was currently in the process of doing was the worst kind of mistake; unforgivable and if Elliot had done it, Jackson would have kicked his ass. Why hadn't he caught the foolish action sooner?

Determined to stay centered from this point on he slipped through the patio door and took the back way to the second room. It was the best course of action; given the late hour, it was unlikely he'd bump into anyone and if he happened to be seen, the lack of light guaranteed he wouldn't be identified, just another faceless tourist shuffling in after a long drive.

Jackson didn't encounter another soul as he made the brief journey between rooms. He could hear people further down the beach, lovers walking hand in hand, but they were of no concern. Most others were asleep or checking out the bar scene on this Friday night and again, he mentally berated himself because five minutes ago when he had left Renee cowering in the dark and stepped into the hallway, he _had_ been seen. An elderly couple had seen him, exhausted and drained as he was and they had smiled at him in empathy. He had smiled back and let his gaze fall to the floor before moving on.

Didn't matter really; a polite gesture on his part and he would be forgotten. They would go on with their lives and when the shot rang out and the police came calling, the couple would have a hard time remembering his face. It was always that way; his most distinguishing characteristic forever serving as his greatest disguise.

"He's hard to describe, officer. We just remember his blinding blue eyes."

That's all they would remember. That was all anyone ever remembered.

Jackson arrived at the room just in time to spot Renee's heretofore unknown talent. It was different, a woman utilizing palmistry instead of feminine charm to gain the upper hand. For once he'd cut Elliot some slack. If he'd been in the same position, she might have caught him off guard as well. But one thing was certain; had they gotten to the point where the two of them were fighting over a loaded gun, Jackson would not have reached out and _clawed_ her.

In the midst of a cat fight, the man had been the first to use his nails…pathetic. Jackson could not let that go; not after she had accepted her scratches without so much as a yelp and Jackson saw four red lines begin to rise along the length of her arm. Part of him wanted to see her defeat his brother and wondered if he would honor their agreement to buy her off and step out of her life forever if she managed to do it.

Tough and resourceful; a woman of seemingly endless talents – it would be foolish to let her walk away.

Enough was enough, however. This was getting out of hand. Setting the bags down noiselessly in the sand, Jackson drew his gun and readied himself. But when the girls started to bicker over what they should do next, he lowered that weapon and went back into listening mode, fully aware that he was enjoying the comic relief a little too much. But it wasn't often he got to listen to the harmless banter of the ignorant; he could allow himself a bit of indulgence.

Elizabeth thought it best to shoot Elliot, wait in the room for Jackson to return and then kill him the second he set foot inside. After that, when they were certain it was safe, it would be appropriate to get the police involved.

"_Ouch, that's cold_, _vicious little thing, aren't you?"_ Jackson thought, but Elizabeth reasoned that if he and Elliot were dead they sure as hell wouldn't be coming back to stir up trouble two days or even two years down the line.

Again, Jackson considered it cold hearted, even if there was some logic behind her thought process; a method to her madness. Actually, it was the best idea he'd heard from her all evening.

Thanks to Renee, his life was sparred. Sweet, naive, manipulative and complex, Renee; it was she who suggested they sneak out the back because she was worried they might run into him in the halls. She believed it was too dangerous to remain stuck in such close confines with him and Elliot. It would be like tempting fate and too many things could go wrong. Besides, and this was key, Renee knew that neither she nor the supposedly intrepid Elizabeth had the guts to kill two men in cold blood, no matter the circumstances.

Run to an undisclosed, safe location and call the police; let them deal with it. As far as Jackson and Elliot hunting them down were concerned, that's what the Witness Protection Program was for.

Too inexperienced and kind hearted for this business, her fears were about to lead her straight into his waiting arms and she honestly thought that she could trust the police. That once they were involved she would be safe…that he didn't have a sympathizer in almost every branch of government.

He had heard enough and they could debate until the cows came home, might as well; they were never going to leave that room.

Even if they had tried to call for help from their hotel room, Jackson would have put a stop to it, ripping the phone out of the wall if it came to that.

He was so confident in his role as puppet master that he even allowed Renee to take a step outside, a brief taste of freedom before he stepped forward and crushed her spirits.

The look on her face was priceless. She did a double take, looking back at the front door because she obviously couldn't believe her eyes. He knew what she was thinking; he wasn't supposed to be here and he half expected her to wave a scolding finger at him and accuse him of not playing fair.

But no matter how shocked she may have been, she didn't scream. She knew better.

Jackson grabbed hold of her arm and pulled her against him, jamming the gun into her ribs. Renee winced at the stabbing gesture and opened her mouth as if to speak before he cut her off.

"Capturing my attention, drawing my interest; you're not acting like a woman who wants to be set free."

She said nothing in response. She had been caught red handed and she knew as much. To lie again or otherwise try to deceive him would get her nowhere.

And that same dejected look graced Elizabeth's face when she ran through the door a second later. The young girl came to a screeching halt and raised her gun with a steadfast hand.

"Take your…," Elizabeth started.

"Take your hands off my sister," Jackson finished. It was the phrase of the evening or so it seemed. Had he been too hands on with Renee? He didn't think so. "I know, I know; the two of you did very well tonight but it's over now. Be a dear and give Elliot his gun before you hurt yourself and we can all go back inside."

Elizabeth glared back at him defiantly. Had Renee not been here, Jackson was certain they'd have quite the little stand off on their hands. Thankfully, she was here and Jackson pulled her closer; a silent warning to Elizabeth that hers was not the only life hanging in the balance.

The protective glare melted away, replaced with concern and an actual glimmer of fear. That was surprising coming from her. Elizabeth had come across as the text book version of a narcissist and he couldn't help but think of her in that way; egotistical, self-centered and self-serving. Showing this much concern for Renee was out of character and Jackson began to wonder if the blow ups, the verbal attacks leveled on Renee were planned. A little trick they played to stoke his own protective fires.

Jackson despised being toyed with.

"Give Elliot the gun," he snarled through a tightly clenched jaw.

This time, she lowered the weapon, turned and allowed Elliot to snatch if from her outstretched hand. Jackson shoved her to the side, entering the room with Renee in tow. In the back of his mind, Jackson began to realize that this wasn't going to turn out well. Bribery seemed like a pipe dream now and he had to start making alternative plans. But his conscience was clear. He had given them every opportunity to get out of this alive; some people just couldn't be helped.

So why was it that as he began to plan their disappearances as well as their deaths, his hold on Renee grew stronger, as if she were a possession that couldn't be torn away?

That was disconcerting to him but he had no time to ponder it now; too many distractions in the present that needed to be dealt with. Something wasn't right. Elizabeth hadn't joined them yet; she was standing on the threshold, half in, half out of the room.

"Going somewhere?" Jackson asked, pushing Renee towards Elliot. "Hold her," he mumbled absentmindedly as he approached Elizabeth.

"You want to run, don't you?" he asked.

"Go, Elizabeth," Renee said.

Jackson looked back at her and rolled his eyes. "Stupid to talk like that, Renee; very stupid, but go ahead and try, Lizzy. Elliot may not be good for much but he could pick you off if you tried to run, even in the dark."

Jackson's voice became ominous, speaking slowly and pausing dramatically for added effect. Theatrics seemed to be required in order to get any kind of concrete response from this stubborn and disobedient woman. "And then what would happen? If would just be me, Elliot and Renee. Think of the possibilities."

"You son of a…,"

"Watch your language and answer my question," Jackson demanded. "Do you still want to run?"

"No," Elizabeth conceded.

"Good, you're smarter than I thought. Now, I seem to have dropped my bags, fetch them for me, would you?"

Elizabeth's nostrils flared and as she dragged the bags inside, she shot him dirty look after dirty look but she had done as told. Renee for her part, just stood there with her head downcast, looking like a child who, after misbehaving for the entire day, had just heard those dreaded words, 'wait until your father gets home.'

When the bags were inside and everyone was present and accounted for, Jackson locked the door and pulled the curtains, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Do you see that, Elliot?" he asked, surveying the room and the sullen people within, each one waiting for him to exact some form of retaliation for their wrongdoings. "Fear, respect, control and I barely had to lay a hand on anyone. I guess you were right about the power of words, Renee."

It was in that moment that he knew he had found balance. He was at the top of his game right now, couldn't get any better. He didn't _need_ anyone by his side, not his brother, not anyone. Strange that Renee had been the one to help facilitate that realization

Jackson approached her, doing his best to stare her down but she couldn't even look at him and try as he might, he couldn't get a read on her. Elizabeth, annoying as she was, was at least consistent and didn't rely on pretense. Renee was different; no emotion she expressed could be taken at face value and he both loved and hated the mystery of it all. What was it about the quiet ones?

"Of all the people in this room, you're the one who angers me the most," he told her, getting little more than darting glances in response to his confession. "We need to talk."

In his peripherals he saw Elizabeth and knew that the two of them would have to be separated. They were drawing too much strength from one another, finding too much comfort and solace in each others presence.

"Elliot, get Lizzy out of my sight."

"Where should I take her?" Elliot asked.

"Into the bathroom, where else?"

After all that had happened it was the only alternative. He could have Elliot go to room 106, leaving him completely alone with Renee but he knew that his brother wasn't up to the task. Jackson would have to settle for a more scanty form of privacy.

"I hope you die," Elizabeth hissed as Elliot pulled her into the bathroom.

"You hope I die?"

Jackson simply had to repeat that; hadn't heard that one before. He should write that down, include it in his memoirs.

"That's a little melodramatic, Lizzy, even for you," he said with a chuckle that he knew added to her fury. Then, just to put the icing on the cake, he issued a final order. "Elliot, put a muzzle on that thing."

A grin from Elliot and then they were gone. Jackson looked to Renee who was now huddled in the corner like the proverbial wall flower, wondering what he would do next.

Even he wasn't sure.

Jackson stood there watching her, feeling a flurry of emotions begin to swirl within him; anger, excitement, interest. He looked at her and he looked at the bed, wishing again that they were _truly_ alone. He had a vision of himself forcing her onto that mattress, ignoring her silent protests, _and she would be silent_, then he would lie on top of her and…what? Fuck her, strangle her, he didn't know; the fantasy ended.

"Look at me," he ordered, pointing the gun at her to make certain she complied.

Shaking like a leaf, tears tricked down her cheeks when his fingers first made contact with her face. Threatened with a gun, bullied and berated; it was an intimate touch that seemed to cause her the most pain.

He felt no pity. She was manipulative, had chosen to be that way and was undeserving of his concern.

And whether she knew it or not, before they were done here, he'd teach her all about the real world, including what happens to foolish young women who think they can out con a con man. But first, he wanted to know why she had done it and how they managed to_ almost_ pull it off.

When his hand touched her neck, she stiffened, expecting the worst and when he whispered, "I want to know you," she gasped.

**Author's Note: It looks like the alert and private messaging systems are down again! I appreciate your reviews very much and I will thank each and every one of you…it just might take a while for you to get my message.**

**What I mean to say is; thanks in advance and if by chance you don't hear from me, don't take it personal.**

**This chapter was filler for the most part even if Jackson did foil Renee and Elizabeth's escape attempt. I promise I'm building towards something really big.**

**Special thanks to emptyvoices - my wonderful sounding board. **


	12. Chapter 12

"Know me?" she squeaked as she pulled further away. Jackson hated to break it to her but unless she could walk through walls as well as read palms, she wasn't going anywhere.

And he didn't respond to her sheepish inquiry either, preferring she draw her own conclusions and terrorize herself for a change. He could use the break.

Renee was quiet as a mouse; her eyes shifting non-stop between him and the bathroom door, terrified over having been separated from her sister and wondering what was taking place behind closed doors. That also worked to his advantage or so he thought. With Renee's continued silence, the only sounds they heard came from the television and of course, Elizabeth. Duct tape, duct tape, his kingdom for a roll of duct tape so that he might silence that girl and be done with it.

"Scratched my sister…you fight like a woman…pansy," she chided and when he heard those remarks, Jackson had to fight hard to maintain his stern expression. It would seem that Elizabeth was good for a laugh after all and he had a clear picture of his brother trapped in that confined space just itching to kill his companion. Ten minutes or so locked in with her and Jackson would never have to chastise him again; Elliot would be traumatized for life.

"_Better him than me,"_ Jackson thought and felt grateful that he had his hands on the 'good' sister.

But Elliot and Elizabeth were arguing quietly and all was right with the world. He could take time out of his day to teach the rebellious young Renee a lesson. He pressed against her, relishing the feeling, the pronounced rise and fall of her chest as she breathed frantically.

"And by that, you automatically assume I mean rape, why?" he asked, furrowing his brow as she continued to hyperventilate.

She didn't speak. She just looked up at him with those sad sack eyes, shaking her head 'no' as if the very thought was intolerable. Was that all it took?

"You're small minded," he spat in disregard. "I can think of plenty of things worse than that."

Then he stepped away, leaving her in her little corner of the room so he could sit comfortably on the bed. He only took his eyes off her for a second as he sat but still, he heard it; that faint whisper, the slight she no doubt believed would go unnoticed. "_I bet you could_." She spoke so softly it was almost indistinguishable over the sound of the mattress springs compressing under the weight of his body. So soft that anyone else would not have known she'd spoken at all.

"What did you say, Renee?"

"Nothing," she mumbled.

_Very cute_. What to do with this one? With her shaky legs and nervous visage, he should feel sorry for her but then came the wise ass remark in all its supposed subtlety. _Which one is it_, he wondered, realizing there could be only one way to find out.

"Look at me, Renee," he demanded and when she did glance in his direction, he showed her the gun, holding it in the air and twisting it in all directions rather dramatically before placing it on the nightstand.

Her gaze fell on the discarded weapon straight away and the fear in her eyes that had been so vivid and believable seconds ago, vanished. Jackson wondered if it had ever truly been there to begin with.

"Do you want it?" he asked, testing her just a little further. "Try to take it. I might not stop you."

As he expected, she took several steps toward him, or the nightstand to be exact, before she lost her nerve – her brief attempt at bravery stifled by her inherent mistrust and propensity to hesitate. _Shyness_, he lamented; such a useless trait.

"There's something you should know about me," he began. "I'm not an assassin in the traditional sense of the word. I'm a Manager, which means I not only orchestrate, I recruit and in order to do that effectively, I have to be observant, I have to read people and I have a knack for spotting an individuals hidden potential. Would you like to know what I see when I look at you, Renee?"

"What?" she asked.

"I see a woman destined for greatness if she would only learn to trust her instincts. But you won't allow yourself to do that, not consistently, because you're inhibited…for one reason or another."

Anger flashed behind her eyes. She was insulted, probably embarrassed as well but Jackson knew she would neither say nor do anything to defend this attack on her character. To prove his point, he slid further down the length of the bed, putting some distance between himself and the nightstand. He couldn't level the playing field anymore than that. The ball was in her court now; she would have to prove him wrong.

"What are you going to do, Renee? Can you get to the gun before I do? Are you that fast?"

She shifted her weight back and forth between each leg, her body eager to make the dash, her mind holding her back.

"If I take the gun back, I might very well kill you _and_ your sister, despite everything I told you before. You've certainly made me angry enough," he menaced.

She was jarred by the words. They hit harder than a bullet and she took her eyes off his gun and looked directly at him, studying his face for any trace of humanity. She couldn't believe it, couldn't accept the things he'd said because, in truth, nobody liked to hear the word _kill_, not when it pertained to them directly. This time he was positive that the trembling that wracked her body was genuine.

"Don't panic. Trust your instincts," he said calmly.

And again, she stood there like a statue as he knew she would. The only part of her body that seemed capable of movement was her eyes, which darted back and forth between him and the gun; her sister forgotten for the time being. All that rapid eye movement, it was starting to give _him_ a headache. He could only speculate as to how high the pressure was building inside her head.

"I'll give you to the count of five," he said, growing bored with the test as it currently stood and deciding to up the ante, bringing it to close for both their sakes. "Five…four…three," and as the number two escaped his lips, she darted toward the weapon.

"One," he said hurriedly before he lunged for the firearm, snatching it from the nightstand an instant before she got there.

Renee stumbled forward and if not for his steadying hand, would have crashed into that small piece of furniture. "Oh, you were _so_ close. I was rooting for you, Renee."

He pulled her against him even as she attempted to worm away and with his free hand he pressed the gun against her cheek, ending those struggles in short order.

"I would have given it to you, you know. If I had been wrong, I'd deserve to be shot," he informed her and she could do little more than sulk in the face of his self-assuredness.

He shouldn't be so enamored with her he told himself. This was his possessive nature rearing its ugly head; something he considered both his greatest asset and his biggest fault. At its best, it kept him focused on finishing his tasks with a borderline obsessive drive. At its worst, it turned people into property and trivial matters into things he could not let go. The disappointment he saw in her when faced with failure was only vaguely satisfying. It should have been more. His only consolation was that, captivated though he may be, her safety was by no means guaranteed. It didn't mean he would take it easy on her.

"Don't take it so hard, darling. You're green, that's all," he mocked.

She sobbed, just once under the crushing weight of that defeat before she wilted in his arms like a rag doll. "What did you learn, Renee?" he asked, wondering if she were bright enough to know that they were doing more than playing a harmless game of Red-Light, Green-Light. Did she understand the significance of his lesson?

"Don't hesitate," she whispered against his shoulder and the response surprised him. She was a fast learner.

He pulled her with him, away from the bed and he set the gun back down knowing that she would not fight him any longer and wanting the use of both hands. He steered her across the room to the dresser and its large, finger print laden mirror. On the way, Jackson paused again by the bathroom door. _Awfully quiet in there_, he thought. Maybe Elliot had found a hand towel large enough to fill Elizabeth's voluminous mouth?

Standing behind Renee, he gripped the back of her head, taking hold of her short hair and tilting her head back and to the left so her neck and upper portion of her shoulder were exposed.

"Do you know what I see when I look at you now?" he asked. "A waste; just a southern girl with ratty clothes and a hack job haircut."

He watched her harden; saw the armor go up and he wondered if maybe, just maybe he could tear it down again. He knew how to anger her; that was simple and he was curious to see if he could turn it around – soothe her, comfort her. The ability to drive her emotions would signify that he knew her completely.

"_You_ could be more," he continued, borrowing from her recent conversation with Elliot. "If you would let me strip you of those inhibitions, you could be so much more."

"You would do that for me?" she asked sarcastically. "Would that be another one of your managerial perks?"

"No…consider it part of your employee benefit package."

He couldn't contain his laughter, even as the woman in his arms began to fight.

"Come on, Renee, you walked right into that one," he joked. "And why do you always assume that my interest in you lies solely below the belt? Maybe I want you for your mind?"

"Because you're so…so," she began.

The change that came over her during the course of that fractured sentence was remarkable. Her initial reaction, stemming from that more disobedient side of her personality scoffed at the notion and truly, it was absurd. He wasn't looking for a new hire even if his current sidekick was incompetent. When that actuality set in, he saw her tractable side emerge and in her wisdom, she decided to answer him truthfully. The transition had been fascinating

"I'm so what? Say it, Renee."

He knew what was coming but wanted to hear her say it and fueled by that desire, his hand left her hair and he crossed his arms in front of her body, his hands coming to rest just above her belt and effectively pinning her arms at her side.

"Sexual," she finished and blushed.

Jackson could feel her right arm start to move, instinctively rising to cover her mouth as though she had just uttered a dirty word. He didn't allow it. Instead, he leaned forward and planted a kiss on the side of her neck so gentle and surprising, it took her breath away.

"Sexual," he repeated. "That word sounds so cute coming from you. You make it sound scandalous and maybe I am being a little sexual? I can't help it Renee; it's part of who I am. In case you didn't notice, there's no halo hanging over this head."

Fingers still resting on the waist band of her shorts, Jackson quickly went to work. Within seconds, the snap popped open and she jumped, bucking against him while she tried to free her arms from his ever constrictive bear hug. A useless endeavor to be honest; his hands would roam wherever they pleased.

"Shh," Jackson whispered, pressing his lips against her shoulder. "It's time for another lesson, Renee: poise."

He made short work of her zipper, sliding the shorts down an inch or so to give his hand room to explore and explore it did; touching and kneading every inch of skin within its grasp. But then something caught his interest. Her hip bone; seemed like a silly thing to become fixated on and he briefly wondered why, until it dawned on him. It had come to his attention because he didn't like it and he remembered when they were on that bed and his hands had traveled north, her ribs had also been prominent. He didn't like that either. She had an underfed look about her and it brought to mind her financial situation. But it was impossible to think that her family would just sit idly by while she starved to death. Perhaps the burden of all the debt, compounded by the divorce itself had literally eaten away at her.

Too much worry over such mundane things. If she wanted to get anywhere in life she would have to stop making herself such an easy target.

Disregarding those thoughts for the time being, Jackson traced along the delicate, lace trimmed ridge of her panties, never plunging lower, only lingering. Whether it was a veiled threat or a promise of things to come remained to be seen.

"Stay calm," he whispered in her ear.

This was the game and he walked the fine line with ease, learning just how far he could push her. Too much too soon and he'd have an all out battle on his hands. He could do whatever he wanted with her, that was true but taking out his aggressions by forcing himself on her would be the easy way out. To be honest, he'd much rather hear her moan his name than scream it; to know that he had turned loathing into lust – the two being so close to begin with. If he waited, if he let her grow accustomed to the feeling of his hand on her hip in this quiet setting with no weapons and no company before lavishing her pretty neck with his affections, her struggles would be halfhearted at best; more requisite than anything else. Hers would be a quiet seduction.

"Stop," she pleaded in a breathy voice when his lips touched her ear.

Jackson smiled again. Even as she told him 'no', she leaned into his kiss.

Women, he loved them, truly he did but they were so predictable; always playing hard to get in an effort to save face. Every last one of them shared those magic spots, the ones he could touch in just such a way that it felt as though a current of electricity were pulsing through their bodies and the woman he held now was no different. The only exception; each time he hit one of those spots and she felt a little tingle between her legs, she would curse herself for being weak and hate him for having the knowledge.

"Was I being too sexual again?' he asked.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because you're inhibited, Renee; you're an inhibited woman and I enjoy seeing you so flustered."

"I'm not flustered."

"Okay, excited then."

More blushing on her part and Jackson tried to remember a time when he had seen another human being turn such a vibrant shade of red.

"It's hard to make sense of it all, isn't it, Renee? The fear you can understand. It's supposed to be there; it keeps us alive, but the desire, the lust – they make it hard to breathe," he said and the next time his lips grazed across the surface of her skin, he felt her shudder. "I feel it too; everyday. That desire, the will to succeed, to take the things I want. Don't you want things, Renee? Don't you feel the urge to take your pleasure wherever you find it?"

"Some…sometimes," she answered.

Another honest answer and another surprise for him; he was almost at a loss for words.

"Act on it…," he whispered on impulse, and he began to feel like that proverbial devil perched atop her shoulder goading her towards ruin. "Stop denying yourself the things you want, I don't. Why does strong desire always have to be wrong?"

"But, I, I don't desire you."

Denial; such a sad thing, easily enacted by those who refused to face the truth and he knew that's what it had to be because when he tugged at her shorts a second time, to the point where she had to hold them to prevent them from falling to her ankles, that's _all_ she did. She never made any attempt to stop him.

"Really?" he ventured and after she paused to lick her lips, Renee answered 'yes'.

"My touch has no effect of you?"

"It doesn't."

Teasing her to see if she dared open her eyes, Jackson began to walk those previosly still but restless fingers along the edge of her panties and allowed his tone of voice to grow inquisitive, as though he were on the verge of solving some great mystery.

"I see; so if I let my hand slither a few inches lower and slip between your thighs, I'd find you dry as a bone?"

That did it; trance broken she began to fight in earnest – harder than he had expected, twisting and thrashing with such force it took all his strength to hold her still.

"Poise, Renee. Don't get offended, prove me wrong."

"You're a pervert," she hissed and Jackson let her go, pushing her into the dresser. He didn't want her anymore.

"Maybe," he said as he watched her compose herself and marveled at just how far they _had_ gone. "But you're the one who's blushing."

She was infuriated as well she should be. That was the price one paid for being presumptuous and daring to tell a lie. Had she been truthful from the beginning this never would have happened and he would have respected her. Right now, he wasn't sure how he felt; only knew that she wasn't off the hook just yet. As she fumbled with her shorts and tried to calm herself, Jackson reached out and grabbed her jaw. The lecture wasn't over and he would settle for nothing less than her undivided attention while he finished.

"The lesson here is not hesitation, it's not poise; the lesson is not to play around with me. I won't be beaten at my own game and next time, I will kill you without a second thought. You would be stupid to think otherwise."

After his concerted effort, he should have felt confident that they had reached an understanding but he didn't. Though her face was turned upward, her eyes were swimming; drifting up, down, to the side – anywhere but on him and he found that maddening.

"God damn it, why can't you look at me?" he asked.

He got tears and a few whimpers in response and knew that the moment was gone. It was pointless to talk to her when she got all blubbery like this. Releasing his hold, he took two steps away from her before he turned back around, needing that small distance although he wasn't entirely sure why.

"I'll tell you why your plan failed – you assumed too much. You thought you knew me. You don't know a damn thing."

Using the tips of his fingers, he lightly turned her face towards his, knowing that he drew more pleasing responses from her when he used a gentle touch. Now that he had her attention, he waved his palm in front of her face. Done out of curiosity and the want to test her abilities, he perked up when he saw her sudden interest.

"What do you see, Renee?"

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**Author's Note: Well, it took a little longer to polish this chapter up but here it is. I hope you enjoy. Lots of psychological warfare and innuendo between these two, but it's so much fun to watch them battle! **

**In the next chapter, a bomb drops, so to speak. **

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her thoughts and suggestions and thanks in advance to everyone for taking the time to read and/or review**.


	13. Chapter 13

"Your eyes are practically popping out of your head, Renee. What do you see?" Jackson asked and pulled his palm away, glancing down at it as if he expected to find something heretofore unseen and shrugging his shoulders when he found nothing out of the ordinary.

To be honest, the whole palm reading thing had been a ploy; something that had come to mind at the spur of the moment. She knew how to do it, that wasn't a lie, but she had spent all of one hour learning nothing but the basics from her ex-crushes father and that was almost twelve years ago now. Renee had never given much credence to the subject. It was fun to do, a parlor trick of sorts and she compared it to reading her horoscope every morning: interesting, but nothing to live your life by.

But when she saw Jackson's palm, she was floored. She couldn't decide what to do; try to lie to him about the things she had seen, which had not gone well for her in the past or tell him the truth, knowing that if she guessed right on this particular subject, he might very well explode.

Renee decided on a compromise. She wouldn't lie; she would omit, give him the bare minimum and if he wanted more, he'd have to pry the information from her piece by piece.

"It's just funny," she joked. "I never believed in palmistry, but there's no denying that the two of you are brothers. You're both opportunistic and you both have strong jealous streaks. I wouldn't be surprised if you spent most of your time fighting."

"And that's it? That's your startling revelation?" he asked.

"No, there's more. There are differences between you two. You're more decisive, a born leader; brutal and…sadistic when you have to be."

"When I have to be," he repeated, as he touched her face. "You'd do well to remember that, Renee. I've shown remarkable restraint tonight. What else?"

"You have criminal tendencies," she sputtered, backing away as his grin broadened. Then her back hit the wall.

"And I'm perceptive. I know when someone is holding back, darling. You wouldn't have looked so awestruck if my palm told you I had criminal tendencies. That's kind of a no-brainer."

Renee didn't want to say it; the story that one line had told. To a man like him it would be a source of embarrassment, would insight anger and that was too dangerous for her and Elizabeth. Common sense; it told her to choose her words carefully and not to provoke a man who didn't seem to understand that killing people was wrong. She would have to mislead him and hope he took the bait. Turning away, she did her best to feign embarrassment, going so far as to suppress a nervous giggle.

"What?" he asked playfully and she found the change of mood encouraging.

"You have two life lines," she said, then rolled her eyes.

"Is that good? Does that mean I get a second life? That could come in handy."

"No, it means you have a healthy…vigorous sex drive." That was true. He did have two life lines and judging from his arrogance, didn't want for attention from the opposite sex. As far as his prowess in the bedroom was concerned; she didn't want to know.

He stopped, surprised that she had been able to tell him such a thing, then looked at her coyly, threw his head back and laughed.

"Well, maybe there is something to this palm reading thing after all," he joked.

Renee relaxed visibly. It had worked, he had accepted her answer. Now, if she could just bring this conversation to an end things would calm down and she could see Elizabeth again.

"But tell me, where's my stupidity line?" he asked.

"There's no such thing as a stup…," and his hand wrapping around her neck cut her short. He pushed her back as she fought for release and still holding her neck, he steered her across the room, slamming her against the opposite wall. She knew that Elliot and Elizabeth were on the opposite side of that barrier, that they had heard the thump and would no doubt hear whatever came next, but that was probably the point.

"I figure I must have one or maybe you do? Is that why you keep trying to lie to me and manipulate me and my brother? Are you slow, Renee? Oh, I'm sorry; _special_."

"I didn't lie. I'm not…,"

"I wasn't finished, Renee. Didn't anyone tell you it's rude to interrupt? I was just about to tell you how I knew you were lying," he scolded. "Because when you said 'sex', you didn't blush. That's not like you, so why don't you save yourself a lot of trouble and tell me what you're hiding. What is it that you seem to find so difficult to express?"

"Fine, but it's what _you_ wanted," she said as she took a deep breath. _Here we go_. "Your fate line has a fork at the beginning, just like Elliot's."

"What's the significance?" he asked with patent curiosity.

"That you both had…traumatic childhoods." She cringed when she saw the look on his face; tension, anguish, his grip on her throat slackened when she said those words. She hadn't done it to hurt him, would never joke about abuse, but did he know that?

"Elliot's fork isn't as long or pronounced as yours. It was harder for you," she whispered.

"It's always hard to be the one who takes action. I put a stop to it," he said with disregard.

"To what?" she blurted out without thinking.

The sorrow quickly hidden, his eyes went dead. She swallowed hard, knowing he was angry beyond words that she knew the secret and she wouldn't put it past him to kill her now because to him, being abused meant being weak and he'd never let _anyone_ think he was weak. Still showing little more than resentment, he turned to ice as he always did when he was about to do or say something horrible and his grip tightened, partially cutting off her air supply; his finger tips burrowed into her flesh, piercing, bruising.

"You're the one who knows everything, Renee. Why do you have to ask? Doesn't my palm tell all?"

This is exactly what she feared would happen. She had set him off and she couldn't change it, couldn't take her words back.

"Jackson, I didn't mean..," she struggled to say.

"Tell me," he began, cutting her off again. "This exact science of yours; did it tell you that you were going to marry a loser? Did it tell you what was going to happen when you came to Maine?"

"Some things are fate, Jackson. We can't fight it. They make us who we are," she responded and gasped when his thumb pressed against the hollow of her neck, sending a current of pain through her chest.

"You're hurting me," she pleaded, pushing against him, scratching at him, wanting him to back off. "Get away," she cried.

"What the hell do you know?" he asked, pressing his body against hers and squeezing her neck tighter. She saw pure hatred, a horrific sneer. "You don't know anything."

"I know it's the frightened dog that bites," she told him when she was finally able to steal a breath. "It took me three years to learn that lesson. Maybe I am special, slow, stupid; whatever you want to call it, but I know you'd rather direct your anger at me than face the truth."

"Something else you learned from your ex? Did he have a good bite, Renee?"

"Nothing_ I_ couldn't rise above," she challenged.

"So you let someone abuse you for three years, but you just rose above, huh? No resentment or bitterness hiding in there somewhere? Sure, Renee. You know, I wouldn't call you stupid, but you're too damned…forgiving," he said and it stopped suddenly, he let her go but remained close.

"I'm not as kind as you may think. I just didn't take the easy way out, Jackson."

Jackson looked her up and down, probably wondering how she had gained such insight into these matters and how two people with like backgrounds could turn out so very different. As she smoothed her shirt, caught her breath and tried to gather her thoughts, he touched her again. Renee flinched because this time, he was tender; his fingers trailing down her arm, tracing over the scratches his brother had inflicted.

"Frightened dogs," he said in contemplation. "What do you want from me, Renee? Are you looking for details?"

"No, I don't need to know."

"Why? Worried that it will bring us closer; that you'll start to care?" he whispered in her ear.

"Because I don't want to know that much about you. It's not my place to…,"

"Care," he surmised, shaking a finger at her. "I knew you would say that and I don't think that's true either. I bet you care for everyone you meet. It's in your nature. You're a nurse, aren't you? Just like Lizzy. Well, not just like Lizzy; you're probably better."

"Surgical technician," Renee corrected.

"I was close. Something in the healthcare field anyway," he said before he looked towards the bathroom door, indecisive, deep in thought. "They were derelicts, nothing too exotic," he began. "A few beatings here and there, but it was mostly neglect. My father loved to drink every bit as much as he loved to gamble and my mother was too strung out to care."

"Then why did you put a stop to it?" she asked. She was in no way defending his parents but a situation like his seemed more in need of a dedicated social worker, not an executioner.

"Elliot and I never cared that our parents didn't give a damn, we had each other, meals…occasionally, and a place to sleep; it was enough. One day, I came home from work early and heard my mother on the phone. The place was a mess, torn to pieces like it always was when she was looking for her secret stash. She was running short on brain cells in those days, so by the time she realized she had already smoked it all the day before, she was coming down…desperate for more. My room had been tossed as well, but I learned a long time ago not to let that _woman _near my money. She'd take every last penny I had and put it up her nose if I gave her the chance. So, whatever she was arranging on the phone; drugs for sex or maybe our VCR since she'd already given the television away, I decided to leave her to it. I was halfway out the door when she said it."

"Said what?"

"For fifty bucks a piece, you can use the boys."

Renee's jaw dropped.

"I know, think about that, Renee," he said when he saw her expression. "I was sixteen. Elliot wasn't even fourteen yet and she was willing to rent us out to fuel her habit. It was self defense. _That_ wasn't going to happen, not to us," he reasoned and his hand reached out and cupped the side of her face because she couldn't bear to look at him and he refused to be shut out. "So maybe we have a little more in common than you think?"

Drinking, fights, betrayal, he had lived through it or so he said. Part of her wondered if she should even believe it; that this could be a lie to win her sympathy as well as her cooperation. But he had never lied to her in the past. He'd been honest throughout this whole ordeal; brutally honest, but honest nonetheless. And she did care, even if it was to her detriment or something as simple as a case of history repeating itself; _the devil you know_.

"They weren't your parents any more, Jackson. Drugs and alcohol make people do terrible things. Things they wouldn't normally do," she told him, repeating pretty much the same thing her therapist had told her _after_. She hadn't taken much comfort in it, sounded more like excuse, a reason for her ex and in this case, Jackson's parents to not be held accountable for their actions but she could think of nothing more to say.

"That's very observant of you," he said, trying to mock her, trying to hide his emotions and doing a lousy job of it. "Do we understand each other now?"

"I think it's safe to assume that we know each other pretty well," she told him, wondering why her words had effected such a change in him, but they did. No longer awash with rage and cynicism, a relative calm came over him.

Was this it? Had she just twisted him around, manipulating his thoughts and feelings like he had done to her? They could make each other angry and they could calm each other down; each one thinking they had scored some sort of victory. What had they won? Games like this never stopped. It would keep on going with the two of them one upping each other until one of them, most likely her, wound up dead. What kind of a victory was that?

"No more escape attempts," he whispered and he drew closer.

_And now he's trying to get his power back_, she realized as the cycle began anew and she felt his nose brush against hers, followed by his breath on her face. Feeling her body start to shake, she refused to back away. Truthfully, there was nowhere to go, and all she could hope to do was turn her head.

No, she could do more than that; she could stand her ground.

"No more," she answered and the words had dual purpose; serving as an acknowledgement and an order.

"Good, because I really don't want to kill you, darling. Please stop pushing me."

Her lips parted in shock at that threat, her breathing ragged because this one always made good on his promises.

_Or was it a plea?_

"I know you don't. You do have your protective side, don't you?" she asked in that same hushed tone before she closed her eyes and felt something sweep across her lips in a feather light touch. Could it have been the soft pad of his thumb, dragging across her mouth, teasing her, or something else? She'd never know, by the time she opened her eyes, he had moved away.

"Jack," she heard Elliot call.

"Not. Now. Elliot," Jackson said.

"I've been waiting in there for over ten minutes. You should be done with her by now."

"What are you talking about?" Jackson asked and they both turned towards Elliot who stood there with his arms folded across his chest and a huge grin on her face.

"I muzzled her, just like you told me; why is this one still alive?"

Jackson's jaw dropped, he started to speak before Renee shoved past him, charging towards the bathroom door and wisely, no one tried to stop her. _Please say he only muzzled her; please don't let her be dead_.

"No," she said softly when she entered the darkened room and saw her sister huddled on the floor with her back turned towards the door. As she stepped closer and her eyes adjusted to the light, Renee saw Elizabeth's arms bound behind her with what appeared to be Elliot's tie. He had used his belt to bind her ankles in a similar fashion which meant that when the time had come to take her life, he had done so with his bare hands.

And she hadn't heard a thing; not a struggle, not a peep.

_Of course not, you were too busy playing games and what, being romanced by a hired killer?_

She began to sob and fell to her knees just beside Elizabeth. Reaching out, Renee untied her sisters' binds before gently rolling her onto her back, not knowing for certain what she would see. _Maybe she's not dead? Maybe she's just unconscious_, she tried to tell herself and the lights flickered on suddenly.

When Renee turned her head, she vaguely acknowledged Jackson standing in the doorway, his jaw firmly clenched, watching her and waiting. Biting her lip, she turned back; Elizabeth's skin was blue, her throat marred by crescent shaped abrasions where Elliot's finger nails had dug in and the red speckles covering her face and neck told Renee that the job had been finished.

_No, it's not possible. I can bring her back_.

She wiped the tears from her face and tilted Elizabeth's head back slightly, touching her fingers to her neck and trying to feel for a pulse. There was nothing. Aware that time was of the essence; she pressed her ear to her sisters' lips, praying, hoping that she would hear or feel even the slightest exhalation but still, there was no sign of life.

_I'll do it anyway!_ Renee decided and pinched Elizabeth's nose shut before forming a tight seal over her mouth, breathing air into her lungs and waiting to see if Elizabeth's chest would rise.

"Renee, what are you doing?" Jackson asked.

"I can revive her. It hasn't been that long!" she yelled, before she heard Jackson ask in an almost compassionate tone of voice,

"How long has she been…gone, Elliot?"

"I don't know, seven maybe eight minutes. I thought that's what you wanted me to do, Jackson. She wouldn't shut up. You said muzzle her."

"You're an idiot," Jackson muttered before he gave Elliot a withering glare and turned back to Renee, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Stop, Renee, she's too far gone. It's over," he said and promptly covered her mouth and pulled her close, anticipating the scream that erupted from deep within.

Renee fought him and she swore that the second his hand was away from her mouth she would scream; scream so loud the whole world would hear. She didn't care if he killed her anymore; nothing mattered.

Then something came crashing down on the back of her head. She saw stars for only an instant and then it all went black.

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**Author's Note: I told you something big was coming! So much for Jackson and Renee reaching a tentative understanding, and as far as Elliot goes, I think there will be hell to pay.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input on my chapters and thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	14. Chapter 14

_Since that night, everything had changed. She lost her patience easily, flinched when anyone touched her and worse yet, snapped at the people who questioned the sudden changes in her behavior. She hated herself and what she had become; sullen and withdrawn one minute, filled with anger and raging the next. And every night she searched her house from top to bottom, checking under the beds, in the closets, making sure all the doors and windows were locked, knowing full well that the ritual was crazy and useless; the monster she was trying to keep away was already in her home – sleeping beside her on most nights._

_She couldn't remember the last time she had been happy or had flashed a genuine smile; her teeth yellowed by that desire for comfort. The comfort that she couldn't get from family and friends because she was too ashamed to speak out – the inner need that caused her to hide food under her bed and binge on the nights he passed out drunk on the couch and she was left alone – the good nights. The self loathing that saw her running to the bathroom so many times to purge that food that she didn't even have to put her finger down her throat any longer. And after her dentist had become suspicious, she had learned all the secrets, both to keep her disorder hidden and spare her teeth. _

_Vomit in the toilet, flush it twice; get rid of that telltale film that a solitary flush leaves behind. Rinse with baking soda and water to neutralize the acid and don't forget the Visine for those bloodshot eyes. Never look anything less than perfect and people wouldn't suspect a thing._

_In fact, people envied her. She was the girl who ate whatever she wanted and never gained weight. "What's your secret?" they would ask. "Quick metabolism, exercise and genetics, I guess," was her answer. _

_She was a lucky girl, so lucky. She had it all; big house, two new cars, a two carat diamond on her finger, a handsome, charismatic husband who doted on her constantly…in public._

_Little did they know he was drinking it all away and when they were behind closed doors the doting stopped._

"_A pretty face, that's all you've got…stupid…brainless…worthless…shut up!" Horrible words; she heard them everyday and they destroyed her self-worth, leaving her despondent and lost. Things fell apart. A war began, intimacy was unheard of and sex became meaningless. It was routine, something done to end or avoid an argument and it had already been well established that 'no' was not an option._

_This was her prison; isolated from her friends who wondered what her problem was, filled with shame because she was so 'troubled' as her husband put it._

"_Why do you make me do these things, Renee?" he would ask in his guild ridden moments, so eager to place blame._

_How to stare people in the eye and tell them what was happening? How to bear those looks of pity always given to the victim? She didn't want to be seen that way; broken and weak. No, she was strong._

_Three years went by, three years and the doctors had pills to solve each and every one of her problems: Zoloft, Lexapro, Celexa, she tried them all with varying results. Through it all none of them ever bothered to ask that one simple question; why? Why was she bulimic? Why was she depressed? Why did she have panic attacks and OCD? _

_As time went on she couldn't even remember; reality as she knew it was skewed. She lived in a world where things just happened. She had no control, she could only react and she told herself that this was her punishment; her penance for… something._

_Then one Friday night as she tore through the kitchen, trying to get dinner on the table while simultaneously putting the groceries away and tidying up, she detected the smell of chicken burning._

"_Damn it," she cried as she reached into the oven so hastily she didn't realize she had forgotten to grab a pot holder until her fingers touched the 350 degree pan and the sound of a much louder, more intense, 'damn it!' filled her home._

_She jerked her hand away, immediately placing a scalded finger in her mouth, trying to cool the burn and she burst into tears because after three years of this, every sharp noise, every painful stimulus was the straw that broke the camels back._

_As she sunk to the floor she uttered the two words she knew best, 'I'm sorry,' and she wondered what she could have possibly done to deserve this life. _

_Whatever it was, she swore she was sorry._

_Crouched beside her oven with its door wide open and the burning dinner still inside, Renee had an epiphany. She was guilty of two things and two things alone; denial, because she had tried to convince herself that he could call her names and make her do things against her will under the guise of marital rights – and hesitation for not having drawn these conclusions years ago._

_Rising to her feet, she reached for her pot holder and pulled the chicken from the stove and placed it on the wooden cutting board before she crossed the room and picked up the phone. Her husband would be home in less than an hour. There was not much time._

_Why, why hadn't she done this sooner, she lamented, but in her heart, she knew. Because she had to be sure; she had to know that he couldn't be helped, that things would never get better, only then could she walk away from their union without guilt._

"_If you're afraid of divorce just remember, he failed at marriage, not you," Elizabeth had once said in an unexpected moment of wisdom._

_And that's who Renee called that night. Making that fateful call had set into motion a series of events that Elizabeth wouldn't let her back away from even if she wanted to and for that, Renee would always be grateful._

_That night, her husband had come home to a burnt dinner and no wife. That night, her life began to change for the better._

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When Renee first opened her eyes, she thought she was underwater or lost in a dream. Half the room was shrouded in darkness, the other half well lit, but the presentation as a whole undulated just like the ocean which, if she concentrated hard enough, she could hear outside their room. Strange that she thought of it as 'their' room; hers and Jackson's, she couldn't understand why. Then she began to blink rapidly and the tears that had been accumulating for however long she'd been out spilt down the side of her face. With the haziness washed away, it was back to a harsh reality.

Her head ached, her back ached, but the pain deep down inside was indescribable, like a piece of her had been ripped away. Elizabeth, her sister, her best friend, was gone; she was only twenty-six years old.

But as hard as it was to believe, it was not the loss of her sister that had roused her from her sleep. After Jackson had knocked her unconscious, she had wanted to remain in that comforting darkness forever, free from the torment and pain. Something had forced her out, something that hit her on a subconscious level; threatening words, blows struck in anger and the sound of a grown man crying.

She found herself in bed, tucked in as it were, with a gag crammed in her mouth and her arms tied behind her back. Someone had covered her with blankets, one of which hung over her face, partially obscuring her vision. As a result, she could hear Jackson talking but was unable to see him and she could neither see nor hear Elliot.

Agonizing as it was with her splitting headache; Renee lifted her head and glanced around the room only to spot Jackson in the corner with his back to her, chatting away on his cell phone. His tone of voice sounded nothing less than distraught and when he turned to the side, she caught a glimpse of his cracked and bloodied knuckles before she quickly rested her head back down and pretended to be unconscious.

And Elliot was gone. Had Jackson actually…..

"I sent him for a walk, told him to stay out of my sight" Jackson said and Renee jumped, thinking if only for a second that Jackson had gained the ability to read minds before she reasoned he had to be talking to the mystery caller, not her. "I hate to bother you, but I'm in a jam."

_**He's** in a jam?_ She whimpered at the thought, couldn't help it and she poked her head out from underneath the covers knowing that she had given herself away. Jackson looked at her and his brow furrowed – a hint of concern, guilt perhaps? No, not from him and to think, for a fleeting moment, she had thought they shared similar backgrounds, that they had something in common. And she remembered all too clearly the last time she was in this room, right beforeElliot had broken the news; her body trembling, her lips open in anticipation.

Renee issued another anguished groan and her head lulled from side to side. She deserved a painful death, deserved every bit of suffering the two brothers could dish out. She felt like a fool, a misguided, empty-headed fool.

"I'll be working by myself for a while, regardless. Really, I don't have to go that far."

Kill a woman without authorization, get a temporary suspension; gosh, that was rough but knowing Elliot, he was probably strolling down the beach in tears like a little boy who had just turned around in a department store only to find that his mommy wasn't standing behind him.

Jackson stood over her, looking visibly upset as he spoke to the unnamed caller. He reached out to touch her and she didn't just shy away, she recoiled, kicking her way across the bed because her benevolent capture had not seen fit to tie her ankles. He didn't pursue her, too occupied with his conversation to put forth the effort and Renee looked him over, more closely this time. He had a cut on his lip, his shirt was ruffled, possibly torn and she saw a scratch on his neck. It looked as though Elliot had been inspired by her words, her devious reassurances that he was both intelligent and worthy, and had actually fought back this time.

"I was trying to avoid that," Jackson said, grabbing hold of her ankle and halting her backward motion. "It makes things more difficult."

And that was probably him trying to explain his so-called deal; money in exchange for silence. Bribery was much more pleasant than killing, but the powers that be no doubt wanted her dead and yet, even though he regarded her murder as nothing more than 'difficult', she was not afraid of this man. Tied up, left defenseless just like Elizabeth – for all she knew he would hang up that phone, wrap his arms around her neck, and in five minutes time she'd be just another body lying in a hotel bathroom. But she didn't feel fear; she felt anger; that stubbornness and the overwhelming need to survive. Wondering why she hadn't tried earlier, she tested the piece of fabric that fastened her wrists together and found that the bonds were not as tight as she had expected. Renee wondered which one of them made this lackadaisical effort. It had been done in confusion; an afterthought or so it would seem.

"There _were_ two," he began and Renee wasn't sure, but she thought she heard the person on the other end of the line yell 'damn it'. Whatever it had been, it was loud and Jackson was forced to pull the phone away from his ear.

She kept on working at her binds; picking at the large knot, conveniently located between her thumbs with her fingernails and feeling it loosen at a horrifically sluggish pace. More yelling emanated from the cell phone and Jackson ran a hand through his hair, keeping his eyes trained on her the entire time; a constant reminder for her to be subtle in her efforts. He wore that same irritated expression but it had intensified, peppered with just a hint of frustration and several times he had to cup the receiver in his hands, muttering a few curse words before he returned to the conversation. Renee knew what it meant. He wanted to explode but couldn't, that told her he was speaking to a person who outranked him and that alone gave her some degree of satisfaction. Listening to Jackson kowtow to his boss and admit that he didn't have things under control was like a gift from God.

"That won't work. How am I supposed to do that without being seen?" he asked in annoyance and she guessed he was probably referring to her or more appropriately, the disposal of her corpse. "And supposing everything did work out, there's still that other problem we talked about."

First she was difficult, now she was a problem; at least she was moving up in the world. Still, he was going to kill her and she wondered why he hadn't done so already; some semblance of pity, the irresistible urge to flirt just a little longer, or that need to win one last argument, this time emphasizing his point by putting a bullet through her head or wrapping a cord around her neck? Would 'take that, Renee!' or "so there," be the last words she would hear? It seemed unjust.

"No," he said flatly, telling the caller there was no room for debate. "No, I won't do that. It's a waste of good talent. Trust me; what I'm doing is enough."

Now that little display of inflexibility had to be in regard to Elliot. Did they want him dead as well? She told herself not to be shocked. When she thought about it, Elliot had made at least two major mistakes in the few hours she had known him, not including her sisters' death, which Renee thought of as much more than a simple blunder. Over the course of his career he had probably logged an impressive number of errors and given the high stakes nature of their jobs, the higher ups wouldn't want him around. What did surprise her was the fact that there were some things that even Jackson would not do. She guessed that when it came to family, he would defy logic and forgive anything – if Elliot just so happened to be a skilled marksman who earned his keep from time to time that probably made it even easier to give him a pass.

"That's how I'd prefer to handle it. It's not far from here to Stratham; forty minutes at the most. When I'm ready to make the jump, I'll fly out of Pease; shouldn't take me more than two or three days to make all the necessary arrangements."

She didn't know what that was in reference to but it caused her to shudder nonetheless._It feels like someone just walked over my grave._ The one sided conversation was starting to get to her, she decided and she wished that her arms were free; she wanted to hug herself, roll up into a little ball and pray. _Soon_, she told herself. _Just keep working at it_.

"Lisa Reisert," he said suddenly and for some reason that caught her attention, made her stop what she was doing even as her persistent efforts were beginning to pay off. The knot had turned into a loop, something she could work her finger under; it wouldn't be long now. She didn't know why she'd halted her efforts. It could be nothing; he could be talking about a co-worker, girlfriend, anyone at all, but there was something about the way he had said the name; possessive, predatory. "Miami…good, I could use some time at home. Fax me the information and we can talk again on Sunday."

His next victim, Renee pitied the poor, unsuspecting girl. She would be taken in by his undeniable charm and then he would tear her apart, use her, ruin her. Assuming she lived to ponder her ordeal, she would be left with those same feelings of guilt and shame Renee currently possessed. She would hate him when it was over, like all his victims did, but let her deny it all she wanted, a tiny part of her would be enthralled and months, even years down the line, she would think about him, wonder what he was doing and if he would come back.

"Okay, done deal," he said and hung up the phone, burying his face in his hands.

She stared at the ceiling again wondering what to do and how to process all that had happened. When she turned in his direction, he was staring at her, appearing lost in some kind of trance.

Renee glared back at him, wondering what in the hell he had to be so upset about. Was he sorry about what he had done and what he would do? Had the little demon formed a conscience?

"What?" she spat through the gag, wanting answers from this wretched little thing sitting across from her.

He seemed surprised by her anger, more than likely expecting her to fall apart like all his other sufferers. He kept looking back and forth between her and the bathroom door and it was almost comical – he seemed more uncertain and unable to accept Elizabeth's death than she. Was it so hard to believe that something hadn't gone according to his plan?

"If I take the gag off, will you promise not to scream?" he asked, chomping at the bit to get her take on recent developments. She wondered if that natural curiosity would ever get the better of him.

Renee looked at him in confusion; shocked that he would even make such an offer and she shook her head to indicate that yes, she would remain silent. Jackson approached hesitantly and loosened whatever it was that had been holding her gag in place. It fell to the floor without a sound and she followed it with her eyes – saw the item that had kept her silent all this time. The urge to scream faded. Renee wanted to throw up.

_God damn them. _

They had recycled; they had used the same tie that had once held her sister's arms at bay to keep her quiet. A quick upward glance revealed Jackson standing above her and when their eyes met, he shrugged his shoulders.

"What?" he asked in response to her horrified expression, _oblivious_, and she spat the wadded up ball of fabric from her mouth directly toward him.

"You," she shrieked, but his hand covered her mouth and he used his body to pin her to the bed before she could finish the last part of her decry, _"bastard_!"

Driven by rage, she tugged her left arm free, ignoring the pain as the fabric grated against her flesh. Her mouth covered and her right arm still trapped between the mattress and his body, Renee punched, clawed and scratched at him with her newly freed arm. Jackson did an amazing job of dodging her blows given his own compromised position. He was more agile than she had given him credit for, but it was only a matter of time before she managed to hurt him. At last, her fist became entangled in his hair. He knew what was coming and tried to pull away, hissing at her not to do it but in spite of the warning, she tugged with all her strength, coming away with a good size chunk of his brown locks and a little bit of blood.

Renee saw his hand go up, had enough time to anticipate his strike but couldn't cry out. He never took that other hand away from her mouth, not until his fist made contact with her nose and she started to bleed. _Was it broken_, she wondered. It certainly hurt enough, although it was hard to judge, her perception a bit foggy after her previous blow to the head. Everything ached, ached to the point that all she could do was cry. Only then did he pull his hand away before shifting his weight fully onto her and pinning her arms above her head.

Jackson looked down at her with a seething, strangely triumphant expression, his forehead and upper lip dotted with perspiration. He took in the sight of her right wrist; the tie still looped around it like a bracelet and seemed impressed with her cunning. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then, riding the wave of sexual energy that all too often accompanied violence, he pressed his lips to hers in a smothering kiss. She recoiled from him as much as she possibly could; drawing her chin to her chest, she tried to turn her head, breaking away and almost crying 'no' before he muffled her again. The fighting got her nowhere and she simply accepted that all she could do for now was lay rigid and wait for him to stop – one more contemptible submission in a series of defeats. The time passed quickly enough, he broke the kiss; coming up for air and panting heavily, lips still close, waiting for her to give back.

"Renee," he whispered. It sounded like a farewell.

How to stop him, how to survive this? It was difficult, given the circumstances, to figure out a way in which she could show him that her feelings of rage and hatred had not turned to lust; something seen far too often in the worst kinds of film and print. Her rage hadn't died. It was very much alive, with a little disgust tacked on for good measure – truly shocked that he would pick this time to make a passionate gesture. The only way to convey her feelings, she decided, was to trust her instincts, just as he'd told her. Trust her instincts and tell him the truth, "No," she whimpered, turning her head away as his attentions fell on her neck. "I don't want to do this. You killed my sister," and she allowed herself to weep softly.

There, she had said it, made it clear that this was not consensual. His intense feelings, wherever they came from, were one sided. Let him take her now if he wanted. She wouldn't resist. Let him do that if it made him feel strong, she never for a moment thought he'd go through with it; not this one.

"You hate me now, you're afraid," he mused sounding disappointed though it was hardly a stunning revelation. "But I'm not responsible for Elizabeth's death, you know that. I spent too much time trying to make sure that _didn't_ happen. I'm not even the one who knocked you unconscious."

He sat up, still straddling her and using the sheet, which lay twisted in a ball beside her after their struggle, began to wipe the blood away, inspecting the wound he had inflicted.

"Doesn't look broken," he said reassuringly.

_Said the text book definition of an abuser_, she thought as he watched her with curiosity because she had not moved an inch. She remained as he'd posed her; lying on her back with her arms stretched above her head.

"Why did you hit him?" she asked, staring at the ceiling rather than at him.

"Too many misunderstandings on his part," Jackson answered and she scoffed at that remark.

"You were willing to commit double murder to protect him from sexual abuse and then you turn around and beat the shit out of him every time he makes a mistake; you don't find that hypocritical?"

"Are you wishing I hadn't?"

"Are you looking for a 'thank-you'?" she retorted.

"I'm not looking for anything from you, Renee," he answered and rolled off of her, leaving her alone on the bed. "Well, I guess that's not entirely true. I want you to come outside with me and I want you to be quiet."

"Why the hell should I do that?" she asked, feeling the urge to scream right then and there. Though she would more than welcome a trip outside and a chance to slip away from him during the night, running into the ocean and swimming home if need be. She found it hard to believe he would ever take such a chance.

"Harold and Gloria Spamponado, 5084 Kilpatrick Lane, Richmond, Virginia, sound familiar?"

"How?" she asked but the question was rhetorical. He had his ways. The better question would have been, why?

"I made more than one phone call while you were out, darling. I wanted to learn a little more about you. I always like to know who or what I'm dealing with in any given situation, I don't like surprises."

"You're heartless," Renee said in disgust as she sat up. "Dragging my family into…,"

"I'm tired, Renee," he interjected. "I've been awake since 3 a.m. yesterday morning and all I wanted was for the three of you to shut up, and follow orders. No one seems to be able to grasp that concept so let's see how this sinks in; as we speak, Elizabeth is lying peacefully on the bathroom floor covered in a warm blanket. If you stay quiet, I'll make sure she stays that way. She'll be found, she'll get a proper burial, and your parents will have closure. However, should you decide to get cute, try to scream, try to escape again, anything; her body will disappear, _both_ of you will disappear and no one will ever know what happened. Again, I urge you to think about your parents, Renee."

She stared up at him, taking a moment to make certain the gravity of the situation, then closed her eyes and muttered, "Okay."

"Good, I knew you would make the right decision."

He extended his hand and begrudgingly, she took it, fully aware that now was not the time to play stubborn and slap that hand away. The curtains flung open, followed by the door and a rush of cool air hit her face for the second time that night.

"Not so fast," he said, gripping her hand and pulling her back when she tried to step outside without him. "It shouldn't be this hard," he said, leaning closer. "We were getting along so well. We were so close," he whispered and she could only wonder what he meant by that.

Through it all she didn't move not knowing what to do anymore, surrounded by fear and uncertainty. She knew she had to survive, for her parent's sake if nothing else. For them to lose both their daughters…it was unthinkable. Renee had to get home, had to let them know that she had been with Elizabeth until the very end and that her younger sister had died trying to protect her.

"Could we ever recapture that, I wonder?"

She would have to plan her next moves carefully, somehow find the right words to say and keep her head on straight. _What to say, what to say?_

"I'd rather you just kill me," she answered, once again deciding on honesty. This too was more than likely a test of some kind; with him, everything was, like one long, horrible job interview and if she had thrown herself at him, he would have seen right through the lie and the interview would be over.

"That would be hasty. Don't you remember what I told you before?" he asked as he left her momentarily and crossed the room. He crouched down and rifled through the mini bar, pulling two beers out of that refrigerator and tucked them under his arm. "Not while I still owe you that drink. Now come with me."

The words sent her mind reeling. It was nonsensical; bring her outside to kill her after having ample time and opportunity while she had been asleep. Why wait so long? What was the plan – walk her down the beach a ways, force her to down a couple beers and make it look like some drunken woman had gone for a late night swim only to be pulled under by the rip tide? Renee could only imagine what they planned to do with Elizabeth's body and she found herself not wanting to go outside, preferring the cramped hotel room. If she were going to die, she wanted to be found with her sister, not washed up on a beach somewhere after the fish had a go at her.

"Now," he said and pushed her through the door when she hesitated.

Renee clung to the door frame, her nails piercing the wood until that forceful push sent her stumbling into the chilly night. This was it, he was marching her to her death.

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**Author's Note: First of all, before I forget to mention it (because I've already forgotten a few times), thank you to everyone who has reviewed anonymously. I never get to respond to you personally but your comments are very much appreciated.**

**As always, thanks to emptyvoices for her vigilance and wonderful suggestions and thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	15. Chapter 15

The landscape, she decided, was much like her present state of mind; darkened, only able to distinguish that which was directly in front of her, but there was also the constant awareness that more, much more, lurked just beyond her field of vision.

It was both a horrible and sad realization, but Renee had spent so many years living under emotional duress that even an eminent threat on her life didn't seem to register. Experiencing every emotion she could speak of over such a short period of time had left her feeling nothing; she was little more than a blank slate. When she stepped onto the sand it wasn't with trembling legs; the tears in her eyes were for the loss of Elizabeth only and she turned to him as he shut the door behind him, two cold beers tucked under his left arm.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Nowhere, take a seat," he responded, pointing to the two caramel colored wicker chairs and accent table beside her.

"I thought we were going for a walk."

"No, I said I wanted you to come outside with me and you jumped to conclusions. Now, sit down, Renee. I'm not going to say please."

She did what he asked and took the seat next to him. Other than his brief journey to retrieve supplies, this short distance was the furthest she'd been from him throughout this entire ordeal. As welcome as the personal space may be, Renee felt cheated by life. Her divorce finalized just one day before, she'd had only hours of true freedom until Jackson came along. She'd been given no time to enjoy her independence and that was mostly his fault but she couldn't deny that she shared in the blame.

Staring at the sand which began where the weathered concrete of the patio ended, she felt the compulsion to throw off her sandals and plunge her feet into the sand. She wanted to feel it sliding between her toes, just once, or maybe even throw caution of the wind for once in her life – run into the water, go for a late night swim, however cold the ocean may be.

She never had the chance, never _would_ have the chance because she had wasted her time wallowing in her misery, never taking risks, always playing it safe, and sleeping her life away when she should have been out there basking in the sun, enjoying drinks with her sister.

And now Renee's breath caught in her throat every time she thought of her; each and every reminder that her sister was gone brought those suppressed emotions back to the surface, causing her to fight back tears and stifle a sob two seconds too late.

Grief turned out to be a persistent bugger; so damn easy to hold onto, keeping her stuck, never moving on. Now it had given her away. Out of the corner of her eye she could see Jackson watching her. Not keeping tabs on her like he always did, but truly watching and looking rather glum as he placed the beers on the small table.

What a bizarre scene it was, the two of them out here, buddies, pals, sharing a beer on a surprisingly cool summer night. Passers by, assuming there were any, would think the two of them were…normal.

But it was doubtful they would encounter any fellow vacationers. From what she had seen, this place catered to elderly couples and families with one or more children in tow. They wouldn't be out for a stroll at this hour, especially now that wind was picking up.

Renee drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her body wishing she had a sweater, a pair of pants, anything to chase away the ocean breeze which seemed to chill every inch of her body. Having been born and raised in Virginia, she had never felt anything like it. _Shouldn't it be warm in June?_

"Why am I here?" she asked after making the decision that her discomfort was not unwelcome; that it worked to her advantage, holding the emotional pain at bay and keeping her focused and alert.

The question itself was directed at everyone and no one. Loaded, full of meaning, like a lot of the questions she'd posed that night, Jackson could never hope to answer to her satisfaction.

He knew as much and didn't even try; instead he ignored it all together, throwing out a question of his own as if she hadn't spoken. Leaning in towards her, he didn't smile when she recoiled, not like she thought he would and she found that distressing. A man like him should feel triumphant that he had put her in her place. She feared him, loathed him and would do anything to keep him away, but his face didn't indicate he felt some sort of perceived victory. In fact, he looked disappointed that their impassioned encounters had come to end. Had the emotional back and forth been a game for him; a way to alleviate stress?

"Do you see that light?" he asked with a gleam in his eye, still hoping to rekindle the magic.

_Not a snowballs chance in hell_, she thought as she looked out into the darkness. Yes, she could see it, she could see the lights in the distance and knew they were coming from the house across the bay; his unsuspecting targets. He hadn't brought her out here for some fresh air after all.

"Don't worry," he said quietly, "It's almost ten. They've all go to bed; the kids, mom…_dad_."

He opened both beers, taking one for himself and as he sat back, he drew a deep breath, taking in the clean ocean air.

"Beauty all around me and I didn't have a chance to enjoy it. I never do; so many obligations."

And now they were even starting to think alike; lamenting their missed opportunities and like her, his sentence could also be taken a number of ways. She was about to tell him as much before he spoke again, interrupting her train of thought.

"The nature of the beast, I guess; all work, no play. The Association has been tracking them for months now and somehow I knew this assignment would fall into my lap. Since April, they've been coming up here on the second weekend of every month. Always on a Friday night and at six the following morning, he steps outside with the Portland Press Herald in one hand and a hot cup of coffee in the other. He's always been an early riser. The wife and kids sleep late which means he'll be alone. It's easier that way."

"Who…who is he?" she asked, not sure if she wanted an answer. "A politician?"

"No, a politician wouldn't be so easy to track but you're not too far off. Through the years I've discovered there are three primary motivators that drive a person or an organization to seek me out. Number one is politics, followed closely by flat out revenge – sometimes justified, sometimes not – and the third…" he said, drawing out the final three words, wanting her to guess.

"I don't know, Jackson….money, religion?"

"Religion, yes, that's right or in this case, a lack of religion."

"Lack of religion?"

"Yes, people can hate an atheist every bit as much as a zealot. Especially if that atheist is outspoken and rich. Do you know who I'm talking about, Renee?"

"No."

"Lying again?" he challenged.

She turned to him, met his gaze head on and didn't waver for a moment. "Why the hell would I lie now? What would be the point?"

"Then you've been living under a rock," he said with words dripping in sarcasm. She huffed in response – the same reply she always used with varying degrees of success whenever her ex-husband would rant on about something and she no longer cared to listen. Where her ex used to call her a bitch and storm off, Jackson did not. Instead he turned toward her, looking rather let down that she wouldn't play anymore and she could see his internal struggle as he tried to plot a course of action. Finally, he did the smart thing. He moved on.

"It doesn't matter who he is. I never ask questions. I don't care about who or why, but people always feel compelled to give me a reason. Helps them shake off some of that guilt if the cause seems just," and he rolled his eyes at the thought. "Who I kill is of no concern to me, I'm just the…,"

"Weapon," Renee interrupted.

"Facilitator," he corrected. "Elliot is the weapon. And in this case, the bullet, the slug rather, carries the message. When the medical examiners pull it from his body they'll have their answers."

Disregarding the last part of that statement which explained why the bullet was so important but was otherwise cryptic and far beyond her control, she kept the focus on Elliot. "For how much longer?" she asked.

"What do you mean by that?"

"How much longer will he be your _weapon_? I heard your conversation, Jackson, all of it."

"I know you did. You shouldn't eavesdrop, Renee; it's rude and usually misconstrued."

"So are you saying you're not going to kill him? Obviously, you don't draw the line at family members. Why should Elliot be spared?" she asked, wondering what could have possibly gotten into her to make her speak to him in such a brazen manner.

"I'm a Manager. The line is drawn according to my discretion."

"Which means what exactly? Make him think he's out of a job, then when he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown allow him back into the fold and pray he's learned his lesson?" she asked in a constricted voice.

"He's my brother, Renee? What do you want?"

"Look in the bathroom and ask me that again," she said in a rage, spitting the words at him. Realizing that to hide her emotions at this juncture would be pointless, she looked at him, kept on looking at him and told him exactly what was on her mind. "I loved her…I still love her and he took her away."

She didn't break down in tears after she said those words, though she wanted to. Renee could feel her throat begin to tighten; she could feel the moisture glazing across the surface of her eyes but she refused to give into her anguish. Her openness came to an end and her pride took over; he wouldn't see her tears.

There was a softening that took place within him; she could see it in his eyes. A touch of pity, a bit or remorse and then it was gone, replaced with archness. He leaned forward again, this time pushing one of the beers toward her, indicating she drink.

"Do you want him dead?" he asked.

"No"

"Liar; you hate him."

"I don't hate anyone."

Jackson laughed in her face, and then took a painfully long sip from his own beer. "Drink up, Renee. Alcohol helps people speak truthfully, so take a _long_ drink and just admit it. Everyone hates at least one person," and as he moved closer, he began to whisper, "and when people are wronged, it's natural to seek revenge. I wouldn't be a millionaire if that were untrue."

"Well, if you're so rich and content then why do you need my admissions? Does it make you feel better?"

Again, she was forced to listen to that smug little laugh of his; the one that made her think that she too was capable of murder.

"Is this the start of another _our compassion is what separates us from the animals_ lecture?" he asked, scrunching his face up tightly. "Think about this, Renee; he strangled the life out of your sister. You saw the look on his face when he stepped out of that bathroom; he loved every minute of it and the last thing Elizabeth saw before she died was that smile."

As hard as she tried, she couldn't understand or accept him; compassionate at times and now willing to dismiss her pain, push her to tears without a second thought because he had a point to make. What he had just said conjured up horrible visions, ones that had crossed her mind many times but she had, until now, managed to block them out. It rocked her, that was partly his intent, and she almost broke before she took a deep albeit, shaky breath and pulled herself together. She was stronger than that; he would have to do better.

"I'll ask you again and I want you to think before you answer," he began in a smooth, hushed tone. "Do you want to see him dead?"

And she couldn't respond to him, not this time because what she felt contradicted everything she held true – that revenge was wrong, that she should turn the other cheek.

"Answer me, Renee."

She could only shake her head as the battle went on inside her mind; right and wrong…lies and the truth.

"Human nature, Renee; accept it and everything becomes simple."

"Yes," she finally whispered.

"Say it again," he demanded as he lingered near, not quite believing what he'd just heard.

"Yes," she reiterated and the whole time, no matter how heated the conversation became, neither one of them shouted – another testament to his control over her.

"There you go, Renee. Revenge; a primary motivator, would you like to retain my services?" he laughed and she couldn't take it any longer. Renee gave into the longing, raised her hands and slapped him hard, wiping that obnoxious grin right off his face and leaving a curios red band across his left cheek.

"An eye for an eye," she said, touching her face, still sore from his last display of _human nature_ and finding an inner strength after being so cruelly mocked.

Jackson fumed and looked in all directions, checking to see if anyone was around. He wanted to retaliate so very badly, but the need for discretion held him back.

"Would you like to hit me, Jackson? Do it," she dared. "It's simple, or so I hear."

This time he was at a loss for words.

"Now I'm going to ask you a question and I want _you _to be truthful," she said letting her gaze burn into him, both of them refusing to break eye contact. "Do you want to see _me_ dead? I know what your employers want you to do. Whatever your reasons for keeping me alive, they can't outweigh the risks. There's something else, something you're hiding."

"Are you asking me to kill you, Renee? That's a little self-defeating, don't you think?"

"Not wanting to sit around all night waiting to die is self-defeating? I want to know where I stand, Jackson. Forgive me if I'm less than thrilled with the suspense. Stop playing games and answer me. Do you want to see me dead?"

"No," he answered, speaking the truth as he always did. "When I said I wanted to know you…I meant it."

"But the Association wants me out of the picture, don't they?"

"They do."

"And you don't disobey direct orders. Some things are beyond even your discretion," she surmised.

"When I'm given a direct order, I follow it, whether I want to or not."

"How will you do it, Jackson? Have you thought about that yet? Shoot me, strangle me or maybe drown me in the bathtub just to be original. When you're done you can lay me right next to Elizabeth; nice and tidy," she said, knowing it was to her detriment and her voice cracked on those last few words.

Renee thought of her mother and what she would go through when she received the news. It would ruin her, it would ruin her whole family and suddenly, the last of her resolve slipped away. She was amazed it had lasted this long.

"Oh God, I didn't mean that. I don't want to die. My mother…" she started and then she was overcome.

Jackson left his seat and stood in front of her, blocking her from any prying eyes. Looking at his feet, she felt his hands on her forearm, kneading her muscles, giving her goose bumps as they working their way higher, stopping when he reached her shoulders. One hand broke away, tracing along her collar bone and upwards toward her face, before it ultimately found its way to her hair. He leaned toward her, touching his forehead to hers and whispered from her not to be afraid, that if she cleared her mind, she would see that all the answers were right there in front of her and fear was unnecessary. The words were soothing and the way he spoke was placating, seductive. Renee looked up, she almost wanted to…

"Stop," she demanded, grabbing the hand that rested on her shoulder and trying her hardest to push it away.

"Can't you accept comfort, Renee?"

"Of course I can," she said, looking up at him with bewilderment. "But not from you. Can't you understand that?"

"No," he said flatly. "I don't have time to figure you out, wish I did. Frankly, I have enough on my plate right now. But I'll tell you this, I don't have to make any decisions until tomorrow and I _won't_ make any decisions until tomorrow. Don't push me and make me cut your life shorter than I have to."

She threw her hands in the air. "Why, Jackson. I don't understand this, any of this."

"The mortality rate in this line of work is very high, Renee. I'm sure that doesn't surprise you. But the suicide rate is ever higher. A person can go nuts doing this kind of work alone. You never talk to real people, you don't interact. You forget who and what you are."

"And that's why you have Elliot."

"Normally, he keeps me grounded but tonight, for some odd reason, that job has fallen on you. That's why you're still here."

Renee looked at him and began to laugh ruefully.

"What?" he asked in annoyance.

"You're lying to yourself or you're in denial. In your pathetic line of work, people use you, people hate you, some are jealous, but I'm sure you call it admiration. None of them value you or worship you…except your brother. _That's_ why you keep him around. And I may inadvertently keep you grounded, but that's all I'll ever do. Don't expect adulation from me."

He said nothing, a silent acknowledgement that she knew him better than he thought.

"And I guess you'll keep me as a pet, until tomorrow anyway" she said and she wondered what could be gained by taunting the man only to realize that she wasn't. Lying, refusing to speak, that was asking for trouble, but candor, her unrelenting openness, was something he would respect and she'd be damned if she'd trade her self respect, offer to become his source of entertainment and release in exchange for her life. There was only one thing she wanted from him, "When you make your decision, if that time comes, I want you to do it, not Elliot."

Still, she got nothing from him, just an unblinking stare and eyes filled with doubt.

"Jackson?" she asked, finding it impossible to believe that this man could be standing before her at a loss for words. Even calling his name barely seemed to rouse him. "Jackson, are you listening to me?"

Then finally, he began to speak. "Renee, I need to know if…"

"Jackson," Elliot called from out of the blue and they both looked up to see him standing in front of them wearing a baseball cap. The rim was pulled low, hiding the upper portion of his face in shadow and in his right hand Renee saw a small plastic bag. "I got that thing you wanted."

Jackson turned, regarding his brother in a cold, authoritative manner causing her to wonder if that glimmer of doubt she had seen had been nothing more than a mirage. "Good, now go inside and get some sleep, Elliot. I need you at your best tomorrow."

Like a good worker, Elliot went in without so much as another word and Jackson grabbed her arm, pulling her out of her chair and back towards the hotel room.

"You too."

"I won't be able to sleep."

"Well, give it a try, Renee. I think you'll be surprised."

With all this talk of sleep, _what was his plan_, she wondered.He had said before that he'd been awake since three the previous morning and was probably desperate for a little shut eye. Still, staying up all night, though difficult, was not impossible and was a safer bet than falling asleep in front of a hostage Then she watched as Jackson opened the mystery bag and pulled out a roll of twine.

"Elliot, would you do the honors?"

Renee offered no resistance as Jackson took her hand and Elliot began to wrap the cord around both their wrists leaving them tethered together. Jackson handed him his firearm and Elliot accepted it, tucking it under his pillow before he stretched across the bed and pulled his baseball cap over his face to block out the light.

"You're stuck with me now," Jackson said and his words did not convey sarcasm, only truth. "I sent him out to get the twine. I didn't want to use the tie again."

"That was kind of you," she said in an equally blasé tone of voice, let him try to guess the meaning.

She was forced to trail him as he went about his business, setting the alarm clock for 4:00 and switching off all the lights. Grabbing two extra pillows and a blanket from the closet, he laid them out on the floor and despite her reticence, pulled her down with him.

"Don't try anything," he warned. "I'm a light sleeper and if you get up, if you try to untie yourself, if you even twitch, I'll know about. Got it?"

"Yes."

"And be sure to think about your parents and the deal we made before you decide to do anything stupid."

That was the last thing he said to her. He didn't tease her about the sleeping arrangements, nor did he try to put his arms around her. He left her alone, kept the distance their outstretched arms permitted and she heard him sigh with relief, thankful that after all this time, he was finally going to get some rest.

Jackson was asleep within minutes and she lay there beside him motionless, unable to close her eyes as if they'd been glued open. She looked toward the bathroom door. Thankfully it had been closed, but the light was on inside. She could see its brightness pouring out from underneath the door, lighting their room faintly and she couldn't help but think about its silent occupant; Elizabeth, covered with a blanket, lying there peacefully as Jackson had described and she felt her stomach begin to knot up.

She turned to look at him, watching him as he slept, wishing she had the fortitude or the knowledge required to snap a person's neck. Fast asleep and at long last silent, she marveled at how deceiving looks could be. He was beautiful and the vague lighting only intensified his appearance. One would never know what lurked behind those stunning blue eyes until they had already been ensnared. By then it would be too late. That was his gift.

That's the situation she found herself in. What would happen in the morning? Would she beg for her life, beg for him to let her live and spare her parents the agony of losing both children? If she did that, would she end up as something more than an epitaph?

Her mind plagued with these thoughts; she felt like an inmate on death row and she couldn't believe that she could possibly spend what little time she had left sleeping, but eventually her eyes shut. After all, she must have spent well over an hour lying next to him, her mind occupied with dark thoughts, and she couldn't resist any longer.

Renee drifted off to sleep with a raging headache coupled with an intense pulsing sensation in the side of her face where Jackson's fist had made contact and she new that these sensations would not improve after a long night on a hard hotel floor.

But it didn't matter. When the morning came, he would put her out of her misery.

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**Author's Note: Only two chapters left…so sad, but thank you all for staying with me and leaving such wonderful words of encouragement.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	16. Chapter 16

When the alarm went off at 4:00 that morning, the unmistakable voice of Barry Manilow issued forth and it was Elliot who sprang out of bed, pounding his fist to cut the music, taking the time to stretch and shake off the last remnants of sleep before he disappeared into the bathroom, followed quickly by the sound of running water.

Jackson, on the other hand, was not nearly as animated or chipper. Though the dark circles under his eyes had shrunk significantly, the light sleep he'd gotten during the night – opening his eyes every time she so much as took a deep breath – wasn't nearly enough. After using his free hand to rearrange his tousled hair and rumpled clothing, he turned to her and began untying the knot that bound them together.

"Jackson," Renee said, hoping to draw his attention. Since the alarm had gone off, he had barely even looked at her; very unusual given the events of last night.

"Give me your hands," he ordered in such a tone that she knew he had reached a decision and whatever it was; it did not bode well for her.

"Last night you were trying to ask me a question…just before Elliot came back. You, you said, Renee, I need to know if…? What did you need to know?"

"Nothing," he said dismissively. "I have the answers. Give me your hands, Renee."

Not the response she was hoping for and still, he would not look at her, only her hands, avoiding her constant stare as if it caused him pain. When she sat beside him motionless, unable to abide by his order, he took action, grabbing her hands and binding her wrists together with that same piece of twine.

"Please, let me go," she pleaded, finally getting a fragment of that much desired eye contact. "I won't say anything to anybody." A ridiculous statement, but that didn't stop her.

"I thought about that, Renee and I can't do it. I can't let you go. Too many things have changed to simply let you walk away."

His eyes drifted downward, back to his work and that was it; her fate had been decided.

"Please," she begged, cracking under the strain and the desperation. Something she had promised herself she wouldn't do. Her head fell forward, coming to rest on his shoulder, not because she craved the physical contact; because she couldn't bear to hold her head high any longer and he happened to be there.

"Shh, it's alright," he whispered. "Poise, Renee, remember what I told you."

But she couldn't remember a damn thing, couldn't sort through all of those lessons and hidden answers that were supposedly lingering, waiting to be discovered. She didn't know what he was trying to tell her. Was this some kind of joke on his part, or a simple reminder that one shouldn't go to their grave sniveling like a coward?

"I don't want to die," she repeated, the words barely audible as she hovered on the edge of a nervous breakdown, throwing bravery out the window, more concerned with living than looking cool.

His response was to gently push her away before he reached beyond her, grabbing a grey plastic bag with Hannaford etched across the front in bright, red letters. From it, he withdrew a roll of duct tape and when he tore a three inch strip from the roll and held it up, she shook her head in protest, breaking down completely.

"Renee, calm down," he kept repeating.

Easy words for a person_ not_ facing death…

"It will be over before you know it…it won't be so bad, I promise you that."

_That was of little comfort,_ she wanted to tell him but the words were stolen as she spoke. After a moment's hesitation, he placed that piece of tape over her mouth because, as he explained, _he couldn't have her screaming_.

If she could have asked one last question, one that he would have to answer, she would want to know what had changed his mind. He had been so comforting, so soothing after Elizabeth had died and for her part, she had been filled with anger and the need for vengeance. What had happened during the night, those six hours to be exact, to change them both?

When the bathroom door swung open suddenly, Elliot emerged, halting when he saw the two of them on the floor staring into each others' eyes. Renee looked up and past him, knowing that to do so would break her heart but tired of looking at these handsome faces and piercing blue eyes.

Elizabeth was there, just as Jackson had promised and she was completely covered with a yellow blanket with the exception of her right hand. It lay there, outstretched, beckoning her closer and after staring at it awhile, the shock wore off and Renee began to shake, nostrils flaring as she sobbed because she could no longer breathe through her mouth. This was real; death was coming. In less than two hours, she too would be gone.

Wondering what had elicited such a strong reaction on her part, Jackson glanced over his shoulder, muttering "Jesus Christ," under his breath when he saw what held her attention.

He stood up, rushing to the bathroom door and almost crashing into Elliot in the process.

"Do you have any respect?" Jackson asked after giving his brother a hard shove backwards.

"I was going back in there," Elliot said in his defense. "I have to wash the bullet."

Washing a bullet? Renee had never heard of such a thing.

"Oil, dust, even a finger print can screw up the shot," he continued, effectively reading her inquisitive expression and answering her question as he grabbed a small bottle of anti bacterial soap from the shopping bag.

A momentary distraction and at long last, an explanation; it was the kindest thing he'd ever done.

Then the ritual began. When she had been told they would be waking up at 4:00 for a murder that was to take place at 6:00, Renee had thought that two hours seemed excessive. But as she watched Elliot engaged in his little ceremony; one so intricate and intense that even Jackson stayed out of it because to be interrupted or even touched, meant that Elliot would have to start all over again, she came to understand that two hours was exactly the length of time he needed, down to the last second. _Been doing this a while, have we?_

"So, did the two of you…you know, while I was gone," Elliot asked when he had reached a position of comfort, crouched eye level with the sink, apparently watching and observing as the bullet soaked.

"No, believe it or not, killing her sister kind of ruined the moment, so _thank you_ for that," Jackson answered, his words heavily laced with sarcasm.

"Sorry."

"It's alright, baby brother. I forgive you."

Renee groaned into her gag as the back slapping ensued. Listening to the two of them fall all over each other, making up after their little squabble now that victory was close at hand. It sickened her and she wondered if she was being little more than a sore loser. After all, she and Elizabeth would never have that conversation. They would never be asked at dinner parties and family gatherings to tell the tale, spill the details of the time they'd worked together stealthily to bring down the evil assassins and save the day. She and Elizabeth had lost the fight.

Looking downward she listened and waited as Elliot's watch, which he had left on the nightstand, ticked away. Seconds, then minutes went by and time ran short. It was cruel, malicious to make her wait like this and she couldn't understand why. Had Jackson become sentimental; wanting to hold onto her for as long as possible before he cut her loose? She could think of no other reason why she had been allowed to live this long. She could be nothing but a liability to them now.

Judging by the way Elliot kept glancing at her, looking outright perplexed, he no doubt shared her thoughts but didn't dare ask too many questions of his brother; not while he was in such a forgiving, if not, jovial mood.

A half hour must have passed before they emerged from the bathroom with Elliot cradling the bullet in a lint free cloth, holding it close to his chest as though it were a newborn infant. Jackson followed behind, closing the door for his suddenly meticulous brother who seemed to have developed a full blown obsessive compulsive disorder during the night. The next hour was spent watching him clean and adjust the scope of his rifle, which looked rather impressive as guns go, though she knew nothing about them. The entire process, from start to finish, was strangely hypnotic.

With thirty minutes left until their target emerged, Renee sat and listened as Jackson and Elliot ate breakfast – a simple repast, nothing more than bagels, cream cheese and orange juice – never once offering her a last meal, not that she could have eaten had they done so. And though Jackson never spoke to her, never engaged her as he once had, Renee could feel his eyes on her. The stare was almost constant but she refused to look back. One look into those cold eyes and she would lose what little resolve she had left, then she really would go to her death a pathetic, blubbering heap.

"There he is," Jackson said as the clock struck 6:00 and breakfast had long since been cast aside. He was doing little more than stating the obvious, however. Even without the aid of a scope, Renee could see the man.

Of course she couldn't make out any distinguishing characteristics. She could tell it was a man, knew he had dark hair, but that was it, and even his death felt like a let down. He had been standing by the edge of the back porch, his arms resting on the railing, drawing in and appreciating the cool, ocean air.

The shot rang out; he was there and then he was gone. It seemed too easy; all that build up, the tears, the pain, the anticipation – one second and it was done.

And no one knew it had happened. The shot coincided perfectly with the sound of a car backfiring in the parking lot; given the location of their room –situated on the end of a five room unit with a neighbor to the left only – and the proximity of that car, Renee heard both quite clearly. The timing had been just right, in synch with Jackson's countdown,_ five, four, three, two…one,_ and after the target had been eliminated, the car revved its' engine, backfired again, and sped off. In lieu of a silencer, which Renee assumed either couldn't be used with high powered rifles, or wasn't very effective –because she couldn't fathom them _not_ using one otherwise – this was the next best thing.

People in the hotel, roused by the sound of what they thought might be a gunshot would roll their eyes at the noises that followed; dismissing their concerns and muttering, 'kids these days,' before their heads returned to their pillows, thinking it a childish prank and nothing more. The brother's had help, more than she would ever know; probably the same person or persons who had left the bullet under her mattress in the first place.

But they didn't tempt fate, didn't waste time. As Elliot frantically dismantled the weapon and put it back in the case, Jackson gathered their bags. In a matter of seconds they were ready to leave. Even if their neighbors were awake, by the time they got their wits about them and decided that the sound had originated from the next room, Jackson and Elliot would be in the lobby. By the time the police were called, they would be heading south on Rte. 95 and by the time they arrived at the hotel, Jackson and Elliot would be in New Hampshire.

"Are you happy?" Renee wanted to ask, now that the job was done and her anger had returned.

What a wonderful message they had worked so hard to convey. Would this murder strengthen anyone's faith; make them believe in God? Would those children, after discovering their fathers' body on the back porch of their vacation home, fall upon their knees and pray? She didn't think so. This murder, even if done in the name of religion, could never be justified.

Killers; they could all rot as far as she was concerned, that included Jackson. He may not have fired the shot, but his hands were not clean. He planned it, he condoned it, he was every bit as guilty for each and every murder that had taken place, despite his arguments to the contrary.

"And this one?" Elliot asked, withdrawing a pistol and pressing it against her temple. "Do you want me to do her too?"

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see his finger on the trigger, ready to give it a squeeze and so eager to end another life. Poise went out the window. Renee couldn't help it; her chest heaved, lungs burning with each inadequate breath she took.

"Give me the gun," Jackson said in a voice that sounded horribly grim.

Renee found solace in those eyes; looking worn and downhearted, much like her own. He looked as though he was having second thoughts and she shook her head, telling him _no, don't do it_, hoping that her understated suggestion might sway him.

"She asked me to do it…if it, if it came to that."

That utterance; inarticulate and stuttered, was her death sentence. Hope was gone, replaced with nothing but the vagueness of impending doom. She had felt that before, years ago when she had also been a prisoner, but she had been rescued back then. To revisit the feelings, to have everything taken away _again_, to know that there was no way out this time, was debilitating.

Renee allowed her head to slump forward and she closed her eyes, taking as deep a breath as possible. She stopped to think, convincing herself that death couldn't be that bad. There would be no more day-to-day worry about whether or not she could make ends meet, no more harassing phone calls from creditors or her ex-husband for that matter. The only thing she would miss would be the loved ones she left behind; her parents.

"Hand me a pillowcase. I don't want her to see this," Jackson continued and Elliot did as told, shifting nervously from one foot to the other, ready to get out of this room, fully aware that every wasted second was akin to playing with fire.

With shaky hands, the shroud was slipped over her head but she wasn't sure why. Her eyes had been shut tight for a while now; since she had fully realized she would never leave this room.

"Don't look," he whispered and that was also unneeded. Blind and mute, she didn't want his instruction. Rambling words that made him feel merciful, that was all.

_Just do it. What's taking you so long?_

"I'm so sorry….it was an order."

A silenced gun shot followed. One muffled thump and the panic alone could have killed her. Unable to breathe, Renee's body slumped forward, collapsing to the ground face first. She couldn't bring her hands up to break her fall, lacking the strength and mobility required.

There was no pain, no fear as she had predicted, but that had been his promise. There was a void; a weightlessness and she felt like she had left her body. Renee could see a blinding white light, and the last thing she heard was Jackson's voice.

"It was beyond my control."

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**Author's Note: Only one chapter left. I'd call it an epilogue but it's a bit too long for that; detailing Jackson's escape and what not. This was a sad chapter, I know, but I hope you enjoyed it.**

**Thanks to emptyvoices for her input and thanks to everyone else for taking the time to read and/or review.**


	17. Chapter 17

For once in his life, his calculations were incorrect. For a Saturday morning, Route 1 was strangely vacant. But as hard as it was to believe, it was only 6:06, so little time had actually passed, and it was far too early for the late sleepers to be out and about. He passed cars occasionally, but he could count the number on one hand and he still hadn't heard a police siren. For all intents and purposes, everything was peaceful.

It led him to wonder if _any_ of the recently deceased had been discovered yet, and he found that strangely amusing. There had been so much death; more than he had intended. The thought of all those bodies just laying there in limbo, waiting to be found, and the people around completely unaware of their presence….so much goes unnoticed in these quiet, little towns.

Shaking his head, he continued heading north. The entrance to the Maine Turnpike wasn't far off and given the non existent traffic, he estimated he'd be in Stratham in less than twenty-five minutes. That was a good thing, a very good thing, because neither one of them was up for a long, drawn out ride in a compact car.

It was Elizabeth's car he had taken when they left the Odome Point Inn. One couldn't have asked for a less conspicuous vehicle, though he cursed the limited trunk space. The delicate scent of Renee's perfume lingered in the air, conjuring up memories of their tumultuous relationship. He wished, imagined that it was her in the passenger seat, smiling at him, those wide eyes regarding him with tenderness, maybe desire, as they had, just once, when their lips had touched for a fleeting second. He had hoped to remember anything but the fear, or worse yet, the blank stare she had given him before the end; the look that had rattled him.

He just needed to get away, he told himself. Once he made it to Stratham, things would proceed as they normally did. He would arrive at the safe house and _his_ ritual would begin. He would rid himself of this unadorned Honda Civic, bone up on his latest assignment – get to know Lisa Reisert inside and out – and then he would put the plan together. The process, as always, took 48-72 hours; he was dependable like that.

When the time came, he would head to Pease Air Force Base and as was his custom whenever he flew, he would travel under his own name. There was no reason to do otherwise; the police weren't looking for Jackson Rippner.

And though the name might sound daunting it was only that…a name. Closed in 1991 by the Commission of Base Realignment and Closure, Pease was now home to an industrial park and a small airport. It was the airport in particular, that interested him.

Before he knew it, he would be home for the first time in ages; Miami. He hadn't set foot inside his humble abode in months, or maybe it had been a year, he honestly couldn't remember. Alterations would need to be made; equipment to aid in the surveillance would be required, and all necessary precautions would be taken. He would see to it all, because he lived for the details, and when it was done, he would finally relax and he would try to forget. He would try to disregard the sense of loss and the words that haunted him.

"_Renee, I need to know if…"_

It was fortunate that he had not finished that sentence. It would have changed everything.

What he had wanted, what he _needed_ to hear from her was a guarantee that the defiance, should he choose disobey orders, would be worthwhile. The heat, the consequences of his actions; it wouldn't be worth it if she didn't feel the same, if she didn't, at the very least, feel _something_. But he had reached that decision on his own. Eventually he had decided it would be foolish. To disobey a direct order would be sheer madness.

Sitting there quietly, no music, no distractions, he took in the ambiance; pine trees all around, the Stonewall Kitchen outlet store to his right, the highway to his left. He felt horrible for many reasons – contemplating how his life was empty, spent running from one job to another, never going home, never having anyone to go home to. It was a selfish life, but the one he had chosen without ever looking back.

Could it all change now that he was alone? After he finished the Keefe assignment, his first solo job, his time to shine, would he find peace or would he at least have _time_? Probably not; thinking like that was also crazy.

Still, if possible, he would like to come back here someday. He would like the chance to sample the seafood, to walk the Marginal Way, to taste and see the things that everyone else took for granted because they lived normal lives. The calm, the quiet, the happiness; he wanted that. All he felt now was pain and though no one else could see it, he was mourning the loss.

It never should have ended this way.

At last, Jackson reached an intersection; watching the light, he waiting patiently for the green arrow that would allow him to turn left onto Rte 95.

When a black pick-up truck pulled up along side him, Jackson turned his head, his eyes setting upon an elderly gentleman with a thick, grey beard and a flannel shirt. So calm and relaxed; Jackson envied the man. Would that his life could be like that someday…

Then his eyes widened in alarm when he heard a thump. It was quiet. The man in the lane next to him, assuming he'd even heard it over his car radio, would think it was an unsecured object, rolling about in the trunk and in many ways that would be a correct assumption. But he had a feeling that the knocking would build in intensity.

When she woke in the dark and became aware of her surroundings, she would want to escape, and at the moment, there wasn't a damn thing he could do to stop it.

"Turn green, damn you," he hissed, cursing the delay and the timing of the lights. This wasn't the morning commute; why the hell had he been forced to wait here for almost a full minute?

Time went on and he began to wonder, should he take the chance, should he run the red light? When the pounding became rhythmic and insistent, he felt he might have to.

It didn't come to that, thank goodness. Just as the driver beside him turned his head, giving Jackson a curious look, the light turned. Jackson looked at the man, 'foreign cars,' he mouthed as he rolled his eyes and then both drivers' went on their way, never to cross paths again.

As if she knew all hope of rescue was gone, Renee quieted down. The wordless grunts as she kicked and squirmed, no doubt trying to maneuver herself in the darkness, hoping she could pop the trunk though he'd made sure that _it_ and her hands were greatly secured, came to an abrupt end. The clever way in which he had bound her wrists and ankles had left her more or less hog tied and the trunk was tied shut with that all too familiar piece of twine meaning that, once again, she was stuck with him.

But even with the present situation under control, there was a problem. One that brought to mind other concerns, because with his less than enthusiastic inamorata awake and alert, handing the toll booth attendant a one dollar bill went from being a mundane to an exceedingly complex task. To be honest, Jackson was amazed that she had regained consciousness so quickly. He had hoped she'd stay under until they reached the safe house, perhaps longer.

Salvation came in the form of an E-Z Pass stuck to the dashboard of her car. From his prior dealings on the East Coast, he was familiar with its purpose, knew how it worked. Fast and easy, designed for people on the go, he could sail right through the tolls without making a stop. A fee would automatically be deducted from her, or more properly, Elizabeth's account and Jackson would never come face-to-face with anyone.

At last, life had dealt him a break and not a moment too soon.

The whole job had been a mess, from start to finish and in the end, after a long series of blunders, he couldn't protect Elliot anymore. Even the great Jackson Ripnner could run out of excuses.

He didn't feel good about what had happened, but knew it had to be done. He had conceded to that and only offered protest when they called for Renee's death as well; he had dug his heels in, surprising even himself. A smart girl, he had meant it when he said her death would be a waste of good talent; he valued her feistiness as well as her insights. They had told him he was crazy and they were probably right, but he liked the challenge and he _wanted_ her; it was as simple as that. They had also called it a needless impossibility, but during his years of faithful service, he had never asked them for anything. They took his brother; they owed him this.

As it was, things had been hard enough. When Elliot hit the floor, so did Renee though for her it was little more than an outpouring of emotion. He hated to put her through it, but she had to think it was real. Taking a chance, he had given her subtle clues throughout the night even if she had been too distraught to read them and he could give her nothing more than those vague reassurances. It was his way of sparring Elliot pain; the fear of impending death that he had been forced to transfer onto Renee. He had always known she could handle it.

When the time came, Jackson had sparred her, turning the weapon on his own brother who had no idea what was about to happen until the shot was fired. Elliot never knew what hit him.

When it came to death, Jackson always endeavored to be humane but in so doing he had been cruel to her and that was undeniable. Leading her on, ending her ordeal with a mock execution; he would never forget the look on her face when he pulled the pillowcase from her head. Frozen described it best; she didn't move, didn't speak, and didn't ask him _why_, though she was certainly entitled to an answer. She stayed there, not even turning her head when he rolled her over and the sun broke through the clouds, pouring light upon her face. For a moment, he wondered if he really had shot her, but as he untied her wrists and pulled that tape away, she gasped for breath. To him, it felt like her first breath because whether she was aware of it or not, her life had begun anew.

Pulling her to her feet, he shook her hard, "Come on," he said and still lost in that daze, she grabbed her backpack and Elizabeth's purse, both of which had been lying by the foot of the bed, and muttered something about her pictures, before they walked out the front door together.

With his arm around her shoulder and a quiet reminder that he still had the pistol if she dared take for granted the amnesty he'd given, they walked into the lobby where they were greeted by a clerk in his early twenties looking out the front doors as the sound of a battered car engine howled in the distance.

"I hope those punks didn't wake you," he said, turning to face Jackson and offering up his apologies. "A bunch of morons in a Pontiac P.O.S. doing wheelies in the parking lot…I almost called the cops."

"It's alright, we were already awake," Jackson explained.

"Well, enjoy your day. It's supposed to be a hot one."

Jackson thanked the man and as he opened the door, he placed a restrained, yet firm hand on Renee's back, guiding her outside. He remained focused on her the entire time, concerned by the way she kept looking back and forth between him and the clerk and he could see the wheels beginning to turn; only lingering shock kept her silent.

"Go,' Jackson whispered.

When her foot hit the pavement, she put it all together. Somehow she knew that when they stepped outside, it wouldn't be a matter of the two of them parting ways with a handshake and the agreement that they would let bygones be bygones. Once she figured out that he planned to take her with him, she lost it.

"No," he heard her whimper and before he could tell her to hold it together, she screamed. "I don't want to go with you!"

The clerk, who had gone behind the front desk to read a newspaper and eat a blueberry muffin, looked up in complete astonishment.

"Is there some kind of problem?" the young man asked.

For his part, Jackson wasn't sure what to do; laugh it off, try to convince this guy that his wife was a bit wacky, or take more extreme measures.

When she yelled, "He's taking me against my will," and the clerk picked up the phone, he knew his response would have to be swift.

Keeping one hand on Renee's shoulder, in a clawing grip, Jackson raised the gun, its silencer still in position, hitting his target square in the face; the truest shot he'd ever made. Blood splattered across the front desk and the young man was thrown against the back wall before he ultimately disappeared behind the counter.

Looking to Renee with fury in his eyes and no time to waste, he grabbed her head in his hands, bringing his forehead down on hers with such force that she fell limp in his arms. Throwing her over his shoulder he brought her to the car, breathing a sigh of relief when he opened the trunk and found it empty. Though it wasn't a large automobile, she was a small woman and she fit inside perfectly. After that he'd taken his place behind the wheel and calmly driven off.

He had left chaos in his wake; a riddle that he hoped would buy him time – a botched hotel reservation; four guests, two dead, two missing, and two more random murders just to make it interesting. Would they think Elliot and Elizabeth had been partners, maybe lovers? Could it have been a murder/suicide? What had happened to that unwearied gentleman with the striking eyes, surely he couldn't be involved in this? And Renee Ridgewater…who? Like Elliot, Elizabeth's striking looks and dynamic personality drew most of the attention, they were easily remembered. Jackson and Renee, less boisterous by nature, tended to go unnoticed if they so desired.

By the time they tracked down Renee's family and put a name with the face, she'd be on her way to Miami. Though he would be flying, she would be traveling by truck; comfortably hidden behind a wall of secured boxes in what many referred to as a state of 'Twilight Sleep', with one of his men at her side to monitor her slumber. It was more practical and made more sense that they not travel together and as he had told his boss, he needed two days in Stratham to make those arrangements.

After they cleared the toll booth, Jackson rolled down his window and stuck his hand outside. The clerk was right; it was going to be hot today, hot as hell and muggy. He worried about her, locked in that trunk with the heat and the exhaust. He was sorry about that as well, but if she gave him the chance, he would make it up to her.

"Hang on, Renee. It won't be long."

And when he spoke, she called out again. He couldn't make out the words exactly but he knew the tone; pleading, begging. It was appropriate. They were in New Hampshire now. The state where one was supposed to "Live Free or Die," but he would never release his new companion. Deep down, she had to know _that_ as well.

Yes, the Pine Tree State was behind them and when he passed a large green sign with obtrusive, white lettering, he marveled at the words.

"Thank you for visiting Maine. The way life should be."

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**Author's Note: Well, we've reached the end of the line. Who knows what the future holds for poor Renee. She's alive for now but we all know how the movie ends…I just might have to continue this one someday. **

**Thanks for staying with me throughout all of this and thank you for your constant words of encouragement.**

**As always, thanks to emptyvoices for being such a wonderful sounding board.**


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